Indie Lyrics Generator

Verse 1

The foreman calls me slack again while my sneakers stick to the assembly line I signed on Thursday, quit on Tuesday still owe them five more shifts to go Mom framed the first paycheck on the fridge next to the pizza coupon that expires next week the shift clock ticks like a slow fuse and I can’t tell who’s more tired – me or the fan

Chorus

So I’ll count the hours till the last one drops and the gravel spits me from the parking lot six weeks too long, six weeks too long and I didn’t even buy a song with that first cheque So I’ll count the hours till the last one drops and the gravel spits me from the parking lot six weeks too long, six weeks too long and I didn’t even buy a song with that first cheque

Verse 2

Lunch break rolls around like a rumour last kid in the break room still hasn’t heard we share the same stale sandwiches and the same crack about my coffee cup Tonight the boys are heading downtown to the diner where the milkshakes taste like plastic I’ll beg a ride halfway, then walk the rest so my shoes can finally breathe

Outro

Next week I’ll be another name on the roster underlined in yesterday’s blue ink the fan can have this heat back

Verse 1

The streetlight flickers on 7 pm, Route 27 humming under my tires. I roll past the brick façade, the same cracked window that used to show the clock. A lone vending machine glows, its neon buzz a reminder of late‑night snacks I never bought. I stare at the gym doors, still closed, and wonder if the bleachers still hold the echo of my dropped basketball. My mind trips over the name of Mr. Patel, the math teacher I never bothered to learn.

Chorus

Driving past the old school, the night feels like a quiet hallway. The parking lot’s empty, but the memories line up like lockers I never opened. I’m a stranger in my own rearview, watching the past drive by.

Verse 2

The cafeteria’s windows are dark, but I can still smell the stale pizza from a decade ago. A kid on a bike rides past, his helmet catching the streetlamp’s amber—my younger self, maybe. I think about the yearbook photo where I’m mid‑laugh, missing the smile I was supposed to have. The school’s clock tower is silent now, yet I can hear the tick‑tock of my own overdue deadlines. I’m still the kid who forgot his locker combination and left his notebook on the bus.

Bridge

The road stretches, a ribbon of asphalt that keeps pulling me forward while the building stays still. I’m trying to leave behind the hallway chatter, but the echo rides with me, tucked under the radio’s static.

Outro

The school fades into the night, and I keep driving, wondering if I ever really left at all.

Verse 1

That beige couch still smells like him when I press my face there, the gray in his muzzle’s spread like the marker dot on my old paper map. Twelve years of dinnertime silence, the treat jar stayed in the pantry, so he just watched my hands like I was the morning and he was the ghost of the lamp.

Chorus

The way we left it— I left when the leaves were yellow, he stayed through the rain that smelled like new tar. Now he lifts a paw at the doorbell, but it’s not me he’s waiting for, not anymore. The way we left it— I left when the leaves were yellow, he stayed through the rain that smelled like new tar. Now he lifts a paw at the doorbell, but it’s not me he’s waiting for, not anymore.

Verse 2

His tail clicks the hardwood going north every evening by quarter past seven; I clock it like the bus that never bothered to stop. The vet wrote legacies in code on her clipboard, said we could rent a ramp but dogs don’t read instructions— he just waits till the floor’s not so far to fall.

Outro

Strip of flea meds on the mantel, bottle half-full, next to the coupons I clip every Thursday. Outside the window his shadow bends toward his own shape, and I think: even grace runs out of time to wait.

Verse 1

I woke up to the sound of my landlord's kid playing with the leftover fireworks from last night's failed party the smell of stale beer and burnt gunpowder still clinging to my clothes, a reminder of the night that didn't go as planned I checked my phone, 17 missed calls from people I don't really talk to

Chorus

Oh, the last day of a bad year, and I'm still here trying to find a reason to celebrate, but it's hard to persevere

Verse 2

I walked to the corner store, bought a lottery ticket and a coffee the barista asked me how my year was, I just shrugged and said it was fine I don't think she believed me, but she smiled and said "happy new year" I smiled back, but I'm not sure I mean it, not yet, not today

Bridge

I thought about all the things I didn't do, all the chances I let slip the phone calls I didn't make, the doors I didn't knock on but I also thought about the things that I did, the small victories the late night conversations, the quiet moments of beauty

Outro

Now the sun is setting, casting a pale light on the empty streets I'm sitting on my couch, surrounded by the remnants of a year that didn't go as planned I'll raise a glass, to the new year, and to the hope that it will be kinder and maybe, just maybe, I'll find a way to leave the bad behind.

Verse 1

Static hisses through the cord you gave me Three in the afternoon, window cracked a foot open Your voice cracks on the salt I swapped for sugar Half a cup, then you say pinch it they meant half

Chorus

And I hum like the radio can hear me Measuring the grief in teaspoons instead of hours A tablespoon of memory on an empty stomach Still can’t feed this ache with the wrong measurement And I hum like the radio can hear me Measuring the grief in teaspoons instead of hours A tablespoon of memory on an empty stomach Still can’t feed this ache with the wrong measurement

Verse 2

Your old Le Creuset is cold on my stove now I press the phone between chin and shoulder Boiling water fights the thermometer reading Ninety-four degrees and you say tilt the lid

Outro

Static back, the cord unthreaded from the phone jack Le Creuset sits empty like the teacup here

Verse 1

We argued over who left the stove on twelve times in a week, how the kettle’s rusted ring had grown its own calendar. Your coffee sat cold in the "World’s Best Dad" mug, mine sweated rings on the countertop till dawn.

Chorus

I still turn the dial to three to keep the toast from burning, you still gag at the smell of cinnamon in air freshener. Two years gone and the toaster’s half the weight it used to be, but the silence still weighs more than either of us.

Verse 2

You bought replacement knobs in eggshell white, I threw them in the donation bin by the 7-Eleven sign. The landlord said “apt’s not for sale” when you asked, so we lived inside the offer we’d never cash in.

Outro

Eggshell knobs stayed on the shelf till the lease ran out, toaster’s a museum piece at Goodwill.

Verse 1

Fourth drink’s gone flat in my hand jukebox wheezes its last Hank Sr. the bartender’s sweeping pine needles from the pool table where we played

Chorus

The fluorescent hums like a lie I’m the echo of the last good-bye one chair still rocking in the dark but the door’s already locked my heart The fluorescent hums like a lie I’m the echo of the last good-bye one chair still rocking in the dark but the door’s already locked my heart

Verse 2

Tip jar’s a nickel short again my coat’s got three wrong size buttons the streetlight hums the same old hymn I left my courage in her kitchen

Outro

Midnight sidewalk tastes of copper bus schedule burned in my pocket the night’s too young to still feel this old so I’ll walk home with the streetlight

Verse 1

I wrote it on the back of a junk‑yard receipt, the ink was smudged from the rain on the night we left the mall, you laughed at the way my dad’s old truck sputtered on Maple 3rd, and we swore we’d meet at the corner when the world stopped being a test, I promised I’d remember the sound of your bike chain on a Friday, but I still can’t find that exact note in my head.

Chorus

Seventeen, we thought we owned the whole calendar, a promise scribbled in a notebook that smelled like cafeteria pizza, now the years have folded like the cheap paper we used, and I’m still trying to read the margin where you wrote “later”.

Verse 2

I saw your name on a grocery list at 6:47 in June, the cashier said “you’ve got a lot of beans” and I smiled, thinking of you, the bus number 22 rattled past the laundromat where we once hid, I counted the seconds until the stop that never came, my phone still has that one missed call from ’08, a ghost of a ringtone, and I’m sorry for the silence that grew louder than any song.

Bridge

If I could trade the cracked screen of my old phone for a single minute, I’d sit on the rooftop of the high school gym and whisper that promise again, the wind would carry it past the rusted fence, maybe it would finally land where you’re waiting.

Outro

So I’ll keep the receipt in my back pocket, and when the sky turns the same shade as that Tuesday, I’ll pull it out, read it aloud, and hope the echo finds you, because some promises are too stubborn to dissolve.

Verse 1

My shoes left scuffs like parentheses on the curb outside the clinic doors The receptionist said take that test again but my hands are full of grocery store plastic bags that crinkle when I breathe

Chorus

So I memorize the way the streetlights bend around the corner by the laundromat Like the angle of a question mark or the lean of a porch swing with one slat missing So I memorize the way the streetlights bend over the railroad tracks at midnight Like the sag of a screen door left ajar or the bend of my own reflection in a puddle

Verse 2

I pass the house where the dog still barks at nothing after twenty years My sister texts Good news!—but hers was chemo and the relief in that message hurts to read

Outro

I get home and the cat’s already napping on the windowsill where the sun catches her Like a promise made to someone else

Verse 1

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, 2 pm on a Wednesday Counting out the tips from last night's shift at the diner The fluorescent light above hums like a fridge As I smooth out each bill, trying to make the totals add up right

Chorus

But my mind keeps wandering to the things I'd rather buy Than just paying off the debts that I've been putting off till July

Verse 2

A stack of fives, a few crumpled tens, some coins that don't add much I think about the trips I took, the ones I had to cut short or never took at all The kitchen's warm, the smell of old coffee and stale air As I total up the cash, trying to make a budget that's fair

Bridge

Maybe someday I'll have enough to just walk away From this kitchen table, from these stacks of cash each day

Outro

The counting's done, the totals are right But the feeling of being stuck, that's still here tonight I fold up the cash, put it in an envelope, and seal it tight Trying to shake the thought that this is all there is to life.

Verse 1

My shoes on the platform, two minutes to go FedEx truck idling, then easing on through I counted the cars—thirteen red and blue Last time I did that, I rode north instead

Chorus

I let the 8:17 roll straight on by Luggage racks empty as the autumn sky Could’ve spent the night in a motel TV glow But I stayed and watched the freight cars go I let the 8:17 roll straight on by Switchman’s lantern swinging, a slow goodbye Could’ve slept under stars on someone’s couch Instead I watched the Northern Lights fade out

Verse 2

Overhead “Track Change” sign blinking slow Static from the speaker, a voice I know Says southbound boarding at Track Forty-four I lit a cigarette, leaned against the door

Outro

Morning light on the tracks like a bruise The 8:17’s headlight a broken excuse

Verse 1

June’s old tennis racket still has the cat scratches in the grip, the sneakers with the toe that wore out every week. I find a coffee-stained map of the mall from when we split, a half-used roll of duct tape rolls sticky in my sleeve.

Chorus

So I stack the tools that never knew my father’s hand, the skein of kite string tangled in the pegboard light. I’m just the man who forgot how to let go, who keeps the echo of her radio in a cardboard box at night. So I stack the tools that never knew my father’s hand, the skein of kite string tangled in the pegboard light. I’m just the man who forgot how to let go, who keeps the echo of her radio in a cardboard box at night.

Verse 2

There’s a jar of nails from the house when Mom and Dad were young, a jar that’s got her initials scratched into the lid. I turn it slowly, listen to the quiet when I’m done, then set it back like it’s half-living in my ribs.

Outro

The late light slants across an old lawn-chair tag— “$5 – too many summers.” I leave it where it lay.

Verse 1

Seventeen dollars after tax stapled to my time card thirty-two hours on the line still don't cover rent Mom sends me a note folded in my jacket pocket says “keep smiling, kid”

Chorus

That first paycheque felt like a handshake with an undertaker's smile Every bill on the fridge has a name now and mine’s at the bottom of the pile That first paycheque felt like a handshake with an undertaker's smile Every bill on the fridge has a name now and mine’s at the bottom of the pile

Verse 2

Deposit slip still in my glove box written in pencil, smudged Two hundred bucks I’ve never held feels like counterfeit The manager winks, hands me change the quarters are warm from the drawer tells me I’m doing fine

Outro

Next Friday it’ll hurt less or they’ll train me out of noticing

Verse 1

I see you at the mailbox, raincoat still dripping, Your cat perched on the sill, staring at the hallway clock. I’ve never asked what you’re cooking, but the scent of garlic lingers, I’m the guy who forgets to water his succulents, still alive.

Chorus

You’re a mystery I keep walking past, A hallway echo that never says hello. I wonder if you hear the same creak in the floor, And whether you ever notice the silence between us.

Verse 2

Last Thursday, the elevator stalled on the 3rd, I pressed the button three times, you didn’t look up. I tried to smile, but my teeth felt like broken pencils, You smiled back at a stranger’s reflection in the mirror.

Bridge

Maybe I’ll leave a note on the door, Just a doodle of a coffee cup that never got poured. Or I could knock, but my hands shake like old vinyl, And I’ll retreat before the words find their place.

Outro

So I’ll keep humming the same old tune at 7 a.m., Hoping the hallway will carry a whisper of me, And maybe one day, the door will swing open, And we’ll both laugh at the absurdity of never speaking.

Verse 1

She left the dog’s brush still in the hallway rug, the last load in the dryer squeaks when I jog it. I timed the walk from kitchen to couch in seconds flat, like I was measuring for a crown of glass or something.

Chorus

Now the house is wearing a blinking FOR SALE sign like a cheap wristwatch I forgot to wind and the instructions say “leave the keys inside,” but the door still sticks when the hinges cry. Now the house is wearing a blinking FOR SALE sign like a cheap wristwatch I forgot to wind and the instructions say “leave the keys inside,” but the door still sticks when the hinges cry.

Verse 2

The neighbor’s kid clipped the yard sign with the mower twice, folded edge like a creased airplane to nowhere nice. I tossed my coffee cup in a bin at QT, but the barista wrote LATTE ART on it before I went.

Outro

I stacked the dish towels on the stove lid again, they smell like the cinnamon roll I ate at 10:27 AM.

Verse 1

I still remember the smell of those old gym socks The way the fluorescent lights hummed overhead You'd stand on the sidelines, yelling my name Even when I messed up, you'd just shake your head

Chorus

You never gave up on me, no matter how bad I played You saw something in me, that I never could explain I was the last one picked, the first one to fall But you kept on believing, through it all

Verse 2

We'd ride the bus home, after every game You'd point out my mistakes, but never made me feel ashamed You'd talk about life, and how it's not just wins and losses How sometimes it's the trying, that's the real bosses

Bridge

I don't know where I'd be, if you hadn't been around Probably still sitting on that bench, wearing my frown But you pushed me to try, to get back up and play And even though I wasn't great, you made me feel okay

Outro

Now I'm older, and I look back on those days I realize that you, were more than just a coach in every way You taught me about heart, and how to persevere And even though I never won, you made me feel like a champion, my dear.

Verse 1

Her voicemail says "leave a name" and I've played it six times today the third cup of coffee gone cold on the windowsill where the sun hits a Post-it from the landlord rent's late but the note's polite "just wondering" in ballpoint blue no question mark, no threat

Chorus

Tuesday afternoon doesn't care wiped her screen before I could ask Tuesday afternoon doesn't hear mumbles from the bottom of a glass Tuesday afternoon doesn't know that I checked the voicemail twice Tuesday afternoon don't go don't go silent on the line Tuesday afternoon doesn't care wiped her screen before I could ask Tuesday afternoon doesn't hear mumbles from the bottom of a glass Tuesday afternoon doesn't know that I checked the voicemail twice Tuesday afternoon don't go don't go silent on the line

Verse 2

I circled the block at 3:17 the deli's radio playing that old song the cashier didn't blink when I ordered a chocolate glazed without a word the barista looked past me straight at the chalkboard specials like my voice was just static on her Tuesday afternoon

Outro

The bus finally coughs to a start Route 12 creaking downhill I watch my reflection fade in the glass where Tuesday's face should be

Verse 1

That bend behind the trailer park where the water used to turn brown by June, Mama kept a bar of Sunlight on the back deck, told me not to swim past the old tire swing.

Chorus

Oh, the river’s still there, just six inches farther down the bank, same dimples in the mud where I kicked off my Keds, same mosquito bites on my ankles while the screen door slammed. Oh, the river’s still there, just six inches farther down the bank, same knife-sharp sassafras roots to trip on, same starlings dive-bombing the same low branch.

Verse 2

Dad’s old John Deere stuck halfway in the willows, rust bleeding like a slow bruise. He’d walk the bank with a fly rod and a half-empty Dew, never once said I swam good or bad.

Outro

I waded in up to my elbows, let the water lift the years off my shoulders. Three feet deep and still half-drowning, still reaching for the tire swing’s wet rope.

Verse 1

The fridge groaned its last hum at 8:17, lamp flickered like a bad connection. I lit a candle shaped like Elvis, watched the wax drip Elvis-shaped tears.

Chorus

The neighborhood turned into a storybook we never asked to read. Streetlights gave up one by one, left us with the dark we’d always known. The neighborhood turned into a storybook we never asked to read. Streetlights gave up one by one, left us with the dark we’d always known.

Verse 2

My neighbor’s karaoke machine still belted out “Summer Nights” while the fireflies spelled out SOS in Morse the kids couldn’t read.

Bridge

At midnight the power truck rumbled in, two guys with clipboards and questionable coffee. They flipped the switch like it was nothing, like the dark was just a rental.

Outro

Next morning everyone blamed the grid, but I know the truth— the night the power went out was the last time the sky felt ours.

Verse 1

The bell above the door squeaks as the sun dips low. I’m counting the loose change that never seems enough. Mrs. Alvarez’s list of beans sits on the counter, ink still wet. The old register hums a tired lullaby at 6:43 p.m. My hands shake, spilling coffee on the faded linoleum.

Chorus

I’m the one who stays when the street empties out, I’ll lock the shutters and still hear the clock tick loud. No one’s watching, but I’m standing in the glow, Defying the quiet that tells me I should go.

Verse 2

The back door creaks and I slam it, stubborn as a mule. A kid on bus 22 drops a soda can, I’m the only one to pick it up. The inventory sheet reads “forgot to order more” in my own scrawl. I laugh at the “Closed” sign, tape it over “Open” with a grin. The night wind rattles the cheap metal awning, and I feel a spark.

Bridge

I’m the kid who never learned the perfect goodbye, so I’ll stack the boxes like a tower and watch them sway. When the lights finally dim, I’ll hear my own breath echo, a quiet applause for the mess I chose to keep.

Outro

The street finally sighs, the neon flickers out, and I’m still here, proud of the dust on the shelves and the stories they keep. I turn the key, hear the click, and step into the night, knowing tomorrow I’ll open the door with the same tired smile.

Verse 1

Tachometer needle wrapped around the red, backseat full of grocery bags I forgot to drop. Engine’s knocking like a bad second guess, but I’ll floor it anyway—what’s the worst that happens?

Chorus

Oh, it’s my daddy’s old station wagon, rust’s got teeth but she still hauls my sorry load. Grind it to the curb, let the tow-truck win, I lit a cigarette like the finish wasn’t planned. Oh, it’s my daddy’s old station wagon, coughs a blue plume, laughs at every backroad song. Grind it to the curb, let the tow-truck win, I lit a cigarette like the finish wasn’t planned.

Verse 2

July humidity stuck to the vinyl seats, radio quit halfway through a Dwight Yoakam beat. Temp light winked out five miles past the last town, heart light on the dash says pull over, lay it down.

Bridge

She coughed twice, coughed once more, then died where the county line meets county lore. Twenty years of cracked manifold, rust on the frame, you can’t buy spirit like the one she named.

Outro

Passing-title in the glove box, keys on the seat, engine bay full of quiet and late-summer heat. Leave her there for the tow-truck man to find, I walked the shoulder home with the kids’ half-melted ice cream in my hand.

Verse 1

I'm standing in the hallway, staring at the wall The same faded wallpaper that's been here since I moved in, after all It's 7:45 on a Tuesday, my landlord's coming by To check the place, make sure I didn't leave it in a mess, like I always suspected I would

Chorus

But I'm getting out, I'm breaking free From this flat that never felt like me But I'm taking back, I'm standing tall I'm leaving it all, and I won't fall

Verse 2

I remember the first time I saw the place, I thought it was a mistake The creaky floorboards, the leaky tap, it all felt like a weight But I signed the lease, and I've been paying the price For a home that never felt like mine, just a place to rest my head at night

Bridge

I'll pack up my boxes, and I'll walk out the door I'll leave the bad memories, and the doubts, and the fears, and the boredom, and more I'll find a new place, with new walls, and a new view And I'll make it my own, and I'll make it feel brand new

Outro

Now I'm walking down the street, feeling alive The sun is shining, and my heart is thriving I'm proud of myself, for taking the leap For leaving the past, and finding my own way to breathe.

Verse 1

Three rings before I even look battery 14% in the passenger seat you don’t leave a message, not your style just four seconds of city bus exhaust

Chorus

I’m not the one who’s sorry today static hums and the afternoon glow doesn’t care I’m not the one who’s sorry today just the voice that stays when you hang anyway

Verse 2

Was it the price of a latte or the rent? I can’t tell anymore which one I owe screen still lit like a nightlight now your name shrinks to one forgotten pixel

Bridge

I hit ignore, then immediately regret then turn the whole phone face-down on the sill pretend it’s rudeness when really it’s fear but the glow won’t die, the glow won’t die

Outro

I’m not the one who’s sorry today I’m not the one who’s sorry today

Verse 1

The forecast called for twenty-four, I left the watch, the long sleeves stay packed in the bottom drawer of the hall tree. I whistle past the block where Mr. Chang still sets his pumpkins on the stoop like offerings to a god who hasn’t answered in a decade.

Chorus

I’ll take the cracked sidewalk over rusted gutters clogging skylights, take the 5:47 with the heat out over the couch where I’m too tired to make the bed. This morning’s jealous of the quiet in my jacket pocket— I blew the crumbs out weeks ago. I’ll take the cracked sidewalk over rusted gutters clogging skylights, take the 5:47 with the heat out over the couch where I’m too tired to make the bed. This morning’s jealous of the quiet in my jacket pocket— I blew the crumbs out weeks ago.

Verse 2

Defiance is a thin red glove I peel off on the bus and stuff in the seat crack for someone else. The top stair creaks, I don’t flinch— it creaked when I was seven too. I leave my muddy boots by the door and track nothing but my breathing.

Bridge

Proud looks like a coat on a hook I never hung right after the divorce; instead it drapes the kitchen chair where my coffee cup rings the cheap Formica since the place got too quiet. The radiator hisses like it’s proud of me.

Outro

I squint at the sky through the window screen. It’s trying to decide if it’ll snow. I decide to decide that’s close enough.

Verse 1

They’re laughing in the kitchen where I burned the toast New dishes lined up in rows I polished most The couch still smells like me but no one cares to ask Just moved some books around to change the looks of past

Chorus

Now you know how it feels to look where I used to sleep To walk the floors I wore with shoes you didn’t keep To sleep inside the rooms I built then walked right out Take all the pictures down and brush their faces out Now you know how it feels to look where I used to sleep To walk the floors I wore with shoes you didn’t keep To sleep inside the rooms I built then walked right out Take all the pictures down and brush their faces out

Verse 2

Wednesday nights they watch that terrible TV show The one with actors who all look exactly like me I should feel honored really but I only feel the cold A secondhand plastic sofa isn’t built like soul

Bridge

I left the keys above the frame so they could find them quick Packed my winter coat because it still had love inside No forwarding address so every letter bounces home Guess I’m still the ghost they can’t decide to leave alone

Outro

Packing up my memories like they owed me pay The new locks turn smooth as skin we used to touch that way I know I left too much but not near as much as you Start fresh where the rooms ain’t haunted by the ghost of who

Verse 1

I arrived at nine fifteen, rain drumming on the parking lot, the florist’s van still loading roses I’d never pick. My tie was a thrift‑store relic, the knot wobbling like my thoughts, and I kept checking my phone for a text that never came.

Chorus

I’m the lone guest, but I’m not shrinking back, I’ll raise my glass to strangers and pretend I’m part of the crowd. If the vows sound like a script I can’t follow, I’ll hum my own line, standing tall on a plastic chair that’s wobbling under me.

Verse 2

The bride’s laugh bounced off the vaulted ceiling, and I wondered if I’d ever smile that wide. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the silverware, a nervous grin cracked by the candlelight. When the band struck that first chord, I imagined walking out the back door, but the smell of fresh pine from the aisle runner kept me rooted.

Bridge

Now the ceremony ends, and I’m clapping louder than the couple, my cheeks still cold, but my shoulders straight, a quiet rebellion. I’m the guy who showed up alone and still managed to catch the bouquet’s arc, and somehow that stray flower feels like a badge of honor.

Outro

Later, I’ll write a note to the couple, half‑joking, half‑sincere, “Congrats on the love—thanks for the free dinner and the memory of a man who survived his own nerves.” I’ll walk out with the night air on my face, feeling oddly satisfied, as the parking lot lights flicker off one by one behind me.

Verse 1

Sweating through a second-shift collar watching Mom’s 89 Cutlass cut the curb Dad kept four beers on ice like they solved something They had rules for the jukebox, like we had rules for curfew I tested every one last Saturday night

Chorus

They had their summer too, they had their summer too Dancing barefoot on broken Mercury glass when the whole world was theirs to bruise They left the porch light on so I’d know where home was They had their summer too They had their summer too, they had their summer too Skidding gravel ‘cross the county line, daring the fates to call them liars They came home with love-bites and stars still in their eyes They had their summer too

Verse 2

Found her high school letters stuffed in a Folgers can Inside a jumpsuit from the roller rink He swore that transistor radio picked up AM static like prayer I rolled my eyes, then practiced drumming on the dash anyway

Bridge

So what if I’m thirty-three and still can’t parallel park? They scraped fenders learning the same way Kindness isn’t learned, kid—it’s given while the engine cools And the record’s still skipping our mistakes

Outro

They had their summer too

Verse 1

My boarding pass is creased from being folded in my pocket I've been staring at the gate number for twenty minutes, willing it to change The fluorescent lights overhead make my skin feel like it's crawling I'm trying to remember the last time I felt this trapped, but it's hard to think

Chorus

One hour, sixty minutes, and I'll be in the air Leaving everything I know, without a care, or so I've been told But my stomach's doing flips, my heart's in my throat I don't want to go, I don't want to go, but my feet won't move One hour, sixty minutes, and I'll be in the air But I won't be held back, I won't be tied down, I swear I'll take this leap, I'll make this move, I'll find my way I'll rise above, I'll seize the day, starting now, starting here

Verse 2

I'm thinking of all the reasons I shouldn't be on this flight The job that's waiting for me, the life that's not mine I'm thinking of the people I'll meet, the faces I'll fake But then I think of all the times I've backed down, and I feel a spark

Bridge

I look around at all the strangers, each with their own story Some excited, some anxious, some just going through the motions And I realize I'm not alone, we're all just trying to find our place But in this moment, I choose to stand, to take control of my own pace

Outro

My gate's being called, it's time to stand up and walk I take a deep breath, I feel my heart start to talk I'm proud of myself for showing up, for facing my fears I'll take this flight, and I'll wipe away my tears.

Verse 1

Put on the wool coat from the back of the closet the one I wore the winter I couldn't afford heat Reached in the pocket looking for a glove or something and pulled out a receipt from a Texaco March 14th, 2019, $42.87 I don't even remember what I bought but I remember standing at that counter counting out change and hoping the card wouldn't decline My hands were shaking and the cashier knew everybody in that store knew

Chorus

You can keep the coat, I'm keeping the receipt You can keep the coat, I'm keeping the receipt I don't need a photograph to know where I've been I've got thermal paper fading in my hand and it's proof I was there and I paid for something even if I can't remember what

Verse 2

Actually no, I'm not going to be ashamed of this I bought gas, I bought gas and I went to work and I went to work every day that winter The card didn't decline and I made it to March I made it to March and the coat still fits My shoulders are broader now but it still fits And the receipt is still here, so

Bridge

Throw it away? No, I'm keeping it I'm putting it back in the pocket Right next to the old parking stub from the hospital and the business card from the therapist I never called I'm keeping all of it, actually I'm keeping all of it

Outro

$42.87 at the Texaco March 14th, 2019 and I'm still here and the coat still fits

Verse 1

My texts sit in a queue past midnight, her blue dot long gone from the screen. I check the spot where we used to meet— the diner’s red vinyl still between.

Chorus

All the strings I pulled just hang there, dangling over hollow chatter. Every call I made’s recorded, but she wasn’t there to answer. All the strings I pulled just hang there, dangling over hollow chatter. Every call I made’s recorded, but she wasn’t there to answer.

Verse 2

Left a voicemail, fifteen seconds, about the rain that turned to sleet. She won’t even hear the forecast; I still talk to streetlights on the street.

Bridge

Guess I finally learned the lesson: some doors aren’t locked, they’re just left ajar. Guess I’m better off forgetting how the house was built to be shared.

Outro

Now I walk that stretch of sidewalk where the sidewalk’s always wet, where the neon flicker’s lazy and my phone stays silent yet.