Lonely Saturday night, left out by the wayside.
I got called in in the morning, talked into a double and left after 9.
Now I’m at home just me and my student loans.
Of course the battery died, I left on the dome light.
My shift was over, Kevin came to jump it. The cables caught fire.
I watched the final ounce of hope go up in a plume of smoke.
I’m sick of smelling like kitchen grease,
Can’t get it out of my clothes.
I’m sick of scraping the windshield clean.
I’m sick of shoveling snow.
I’m sick of beating the sun to work—
Pale light starting to glow.
I’m sick of racing it home.
Ankle’s giving me hell—swollen up and dark blue.
Fucked it up in November, too broke for the doctor, trying to make do.
I don’t feel any break there in the bone
So I’m just letting it go.
Can’t see through it
No hope. Worthless.
I’m buried beneath a layer of dust.
I’m out on my feet, but I’m waking back up.
I keep trying to leave, enough is enough.
I’m out on my feet, but I’m waking back up.
The brink of defeat. We’re totally fucked.
I’m out on my feet, but I’m waking back up.
Cut down at the knees, spitting out blood.
I’m off of my feet, but I’m getting back up.
supported by 47 fans who also own “Out On My Feet”
The verse "Can't even buy a coffee without exploiting someone" got me. It really hits hard. For the entire length of the album it felt like the end of the world.
But to be perfectly honest, it's just how life is these days. And it's fucked up. szczur
Smooth, sophisticated pop with neoclassical flourishes from the Berlin-based duo of Fabian Till and Birk Buttcherey. Bandcamp New & Notable May 2, 2024