Exit Theme - Sadistik, Astronautalis, Lotte Kestner

I am the only one they made

Cast from charming bones and clay

On that cold Winter’s day or so they say

We are the last known to exist

Hiding shine remote cliffs

We prefer it that way

Please leave us just like this

I used to hammer sheet metal till my palms bled

Cash my pay check at the bar then drink the whole thing

Catch a pheasant with my bare hands, take her home with me

Wake up at 5am and make it back to work to start again

You’re sweating whiskey in that first shift

By lunch break you’re feeling worthless

And soon you’re cracking jokes with workers

By the time the final whistle blows, your body’s feeling perfect

So let’s celebrate the good times

Another round for the old guys

And to that pretty thing with glazed eyes

I ain’t asking for a dance, I’m just hoping for a great night

Cause when the stopwatch dies we all drop like flies, so what’s the point in

being free to die (Right?)

(You see it’s not my time, I thought I lost my mind but instead it found a

place to hide)

Keep your fucking keys, I don’t need to drive (nah), I’ll just run for the rest

of the night

(Empty handle with my tongue on the edge of a knife, make me young,

make me numb, 'til my exit arrives)

My heart it pounds, so I can’t make out a sound

I’ve come this far, and I couldn’t leave without you now

If my heart beats now, then I’ll go turn around

If you know me, nobody does

Damaged goods tend to hide in pretty packages

Saddened looks get disguised in witty adages

It’s our dramatic twist, come watch the magic tricks

Abracadabra, necromancer sawed in half again

So I mutter some witty quips

If love is to give a glimpse, what’s under my skinny ribs?

A couple of whiskey sips or something to get me fixed

Before I’m antisocial like it’s Buffalo 66 in here --

So is it beautiful or frail?

I feel like Ouroboros when I’m chewing on my tail

The crows can form a chorus when the funeral prevails

It shows a glowing orange when the moon is full and pale

Wide awake and rueful, looking for a light to break the stupor

Of the types of grey that dilate my pupils

I can taste the sucrose on the tip of my tongue-y tongue

From tidal waves I’m running from but isn’t it funny once it’s done?