Lyrics
Couch surfing will break your back
And there's not one night in ten lonely years
That she's gone to sleep in her bed upstairs
It's piled high with clothes that no longer fit
Old christmas gifts with tags still affixed
She sleeps on the couch and she dreams like a slave
Dreams of her mortgage, it's jaws clamped round her vertebrae
She's hollow, she's dying, menopause-ing away
Hey there, good looking, what's that microwave got cooking
For you and me tonight?
'Cause it seems like you just might
Stick your salt and pepper head inside
That you might scream
That you might
Die just like Sylvia, die as a slave
Die a single mother, a bleak divorcee
Dig under her affluence and this is what you'll find
Five beds, four baths, three kids, do the math
Just debt, regret, empty nest, a broken back
I was not worth throwing away all of your dreams
Written by: Al Brown (Dangers), Alex Tauber, Justin Smith (Guitarist), Tim Culver
