[Intro: Immediate Start. 138BPM. Raw amplifier hum buzzes for a second, then a jagged fuzz guitar riff rips in solo] [Component: Trashy drum kit crashes in with a sloppy roll, blown-out bass fills the floor] [Verse 1] The neon sign is buzzing through the glass Watching every single second pass The counter’s greasy and the coffee’s black Sitting on a stool and staring back The jukebox is broken in the rear Spitting out a song nobody wants to hear Three o'clock is locking down the street Boiling in the heavy summer heat [Verse 2] The waitress is wiping down the chrome Wishing every runner would go home A local driver’s sleeping in the booth Dreaming of a temporary youth The headlights are cutting through the dark Slicing through the gravel in the park The world is shrinking down to the floor Right behind the dirty glass door [Chorus] Burn the midnight at the neon light Nothing in this town is running right The clock is ticking but the gears are stuck Running out of time and out of luck We’re pinned beneath the ceiling and the smoke A station for the stationary folk [Verse 3] The linoleum is cracking by the sink Giving you too much time to sit and think A pack of matches burning down to ash While the register collects the morning cash The window coat is yellowed by the grease Nobody in here can find a minute's peace The highway's humming just a mile away But everybody's waiting for the day [Instrumental Break: Unhinged garage guitar solo. Pure, sloppy, technical-free fuzz bends and string scratching over a driving, trashy drum beat] [Verse 4] The pot is empty and the sun is gray Bleeding out the features of the day The keys are jingling in a pocket deep Too wired from the caffeine for any sleep They can have the turnpike and the miles We’re staying for the static and the trials Let the morning wake the sleeping blocks We’re locked inside the ticking of the clocks [Final Chorus] Burn the midnight at the neon light Nothing in this town is running right The clock is ticking but the gears are stuck Running out of time and out of luck We’re pinned beneath the ceiling and the smoke A station for the stationary folk [Outro: Drums drop out instantly, leaving only the chaotic fuzz guitar riff devolving into screeching amp feedback and line noise] [Hard End]
