(©) 2025 whitemonkey Midnight on a cheap barstool, neon humming low, You tell me about your ex like it’s a minor show. I sip on something bitter, call it vintage pain, We trade our little tragedies like they’re champagne. You laugh at the obituary that stole your phone, Say, “Guess we’ll miss the funeral — can’t make it alone.” I wink at your cynicism, tuck it in like a suit, Wear the joke like a razor, feel the sweet and sour fruit. Pre‑Chorus We play at being fearless, but we’re scared of being bored, Spin the world’s dark punchlines till they bloom into a chord. Chorus We find the light in the mildew, the punchline in the scar, We grin in the gutter, count our lucky broken parts. If life’s a tragic sitcom with a laugh track we can’t trust, We’ll clap along to the calamity, raise our glasses to the dust. Verse 2 You say your heart’s a haunted house, and I believe the tour, I walk through all the rooms where you keep the closing doors. There’s a portrait of your laughing at something I’ll forget, A photograph of thunder, a Polaroid regret. We joke about the ambulance like it’s a taxi we won’t take, Make jokes about our futures to soften the mistake. But when the punchline’s finished and the audience is thin, Your eyes betray a softer joke that I keep under my skin. Pre‑Chorus We swap our scars for stories, stitch the wounds with lines, We’re masters of the misfit art of walking tightropes with our minds. Chorus We find the light in the mildew, the punchline in the scar, We grin in the gutter, count our lucky broken parts. If life’s a tragic sitcom with a laugh track we can’t trust, We’ll clap along to the calamity, raise our glasses to the dust. Bridge There’s a tenderness beneath the sarcasm, fragile like a glass, When you joke about the ending, I pretend I don’t care to ask. But I’d trade all my wisecracks for a slow and honest start, I’d let the jokes fall silent just to listen to your heart. Verse 3 We walk past the bakery where they burn the last day’s dough, We laugh about the aroma, call it karma on the go. You press your thumb against my hand like a secret code, I read the tiny maps you draw where no one else has strode. If darker days are coming, we’ll greet them with a grin, Make a joke out of the thunder, let the weather come on in. Because even gutters have a way of shining when it rains, And even battered punchlines can mend the strangest pains. Final Chorus We find the light in the mildew, the punchline in the scar, We grin in the gutter, count our lucky broken parts. If life’s a tragic sitcom with a laugh track we can’t trust, We’ll clap along to the calamity, raise our glasses to the dust. Outro So laugh at the ambulance, love the bruise that’s new, I’ll stay and make the jokes if you’ll stay and make them true.
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