Intro (Phone ringing. Voicemail beep.) "Hi, it's me." Pause. "Again." --- Verse 1 My therapist hates Saturdays. She doesn't say it directly. She just looks at the clock Whenever I mention The nightclub downstairs. I told her about the vodka. She wrote something down. I asked if it was important. She said, "Probably." That's never comforting. --- Pre-Chorus I have boundaries. They're mostly decorative. --- Chorus My therapist hates Saturdays. She knows what happens after ten. The glitter. The mistakes. The messages I shouldn't send. My therapist hates Saturdays. She says I need routine. I said, "I have one." She said, "Chaos isn't a routine." I disagreed politely. --- Verse 2 I told her about the DJ. She told me about consequences. I told her about the DJ again. She looked more concerned. Apparently, "Dancing on a speaker" Isn't considered personal growth. I said, "Depends on the speaker." She did not laugh. --- Instrumental Break (Bouncing synth bass. Angular guitar riff. Handclaps build while a chopped vocal sample repeats: "Saturday, Saturday.") --- Verse 3 My friends think therapy is boring. My therapist thinks my friends Are a case study. Everyone has opinions. Nobody has solutions. Last week, I brought a note From the bartender. It said: "Please stop giving advice To strangers." I framed it. --- Bridge She asked, "Why do you keep returning To the same places?" I said, "Because they know my order." --- Final Chorus My therapist hates Saturdays. But she still answers the phone. She says, "Tell me what happened." I say, "Where do I begin?" My therapist hates Saturdays. I think she secretly cares. Because every Monday morning She asks: "Did you get home?" --- Outro (Phone voicemail tone. Club bass fades underneath.) "Hi." "Just checking in." "Nothing happened." ... "Mostly."
