"Presumably Dead Arm (617 Sessions)" lyrics
Just to start this off, this isn't the start of anything
Just a song that I can sing to you
We're standing in a graveyard
A presumably dead arm popped through the grass
And who doesn't talk about that?
Honey, you are nothing to me
But alcohol and dopamine
I'm dying on the sofa
And I barely know the time
But like an old man, say I reckon
I love you for a millisecond
But I don't wear a watch or Rolex
And my brain's a toddler rollerskating down a hill
I took a spill and ran into a tree and suffered minor injuries
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
But I'm just being bitchy
'Cause nearly everyone skipped over me
On our twilight hour meet-and-greet
One coffee-table theater scene
But disregard the soaring chick back there in Corner 3
I'd rather let the poor kid sleep
But he's tripping balls, he's tripping testes
LSD, post-wisdom teeth
He got lost in the shower and he barely knows the hour
I wanna know your passwords
Without changing them in Preferences
And all the childhood streets
And deceased pets that they're referencing
And in the box, I'll type
I'll know all the numbers to try
I wanna know the lyrics that you think of when you're high
I'm in love with strangers who I've never even seen
In love with weird-cut bangs and sweaters swaying kind of awkwardly
And I'm in love with fresh-air friends from overheated houses
'Til I Uber up a giant park and dump my body in my dorm bed
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
But the speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
And all these pretend spouses are a happy storybook
That will turn to stark nonfiction in the time it took
For me to notice that I'm old, which means I'll be 30 and happy
Likely married to personified business-casual khakis
And I'll forget about it when I wake up late and stupid
I tried to tell the uber driver 'til he tried to hit it
I tried to tell myself because I've come this far along
Carrying my zombie arm to the 15th-grade prom
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
The speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
The speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
Just a song that I can sing to you
We're standing in a graveyard
A presumably dead arm popped through the grass
And who doesn't talk about that?
Honey, you are nothing to me
But alcohol and dopamine
I'm dying on the sofa
And I barely know the time
But like an old man, say I reckon
I love you for a millisecond
But I don't wear a watch or Rolex
And my brain's a toddler rollerskating down a hill
I took a spill and ran into a tree and suffered minor injuries
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
But I'm just being bitchy
'Cause nearly everyone skipped over me
On our twilight hour meet-and-greet
One coffee-table theater scene
But disregard the soaring chick back there in Corner 3
I'd rather let the poor kid sleep
But he's tripping balls, he's tripping testes
LSD, post-wisdom teeth
He got lost in the shower and he barely knows the hour
I wanna know your passwords
Without changing them in Preferences
And all the childhood streets
And deceased pets that they're referencing
And in the box, I'll type
I'll know all the numbers to try
I wanna know the lyrics that you think of when you're high
I'm in love with strangers who I've never even seen
In love with weird-cut bangs and sweaters swaying kind of awkwardly
And I'm in love with fresh-air friends from overheated houses
'Til I Uber up a giant park and dump my body in my dorm bed
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
But the speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
And all these pretend spouses are a happy storybook
That will turn to stark nonfiction in the time it took
For me to notice that I'm old, which means I'll be 30 and happy
Likely married to personified business-casual khakis
And I'll forget about it when I wake up late and stupid
I tried to tell the uber driver 'til he tried to hit it
I tried to tell myself because I've come this far along
Carrying my zombie arm to the 15th-grade prom
Honey, you are nothing to me
I don't call people anything thought to be so sweet
The speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
The speech is coming back with a vengeance, it seems
Writer(s): Sidney Frances Gish
