Know something about this song or lyrics?
Add it to our wiki.
This is a sad fuckin' song
We'll be lucky if I don't bust out crying
How does it feel?
Your night light, your curling iron
Lit up by the sweat of others,
For many's the day
But not from November to May
The floor is littered
With woodchips and apple cores
And hulls (holes?) of acorns
There is a chattering sound
Because they were squirrels; real squirrels.
(And there were thousands)
This isn't some kind of metaphor,
Goddamn, this is real
We'll be lucky if I don't bust out crying
How does it feel?
Your night light, your curling iron
Lit up by the sweat of others,
For many's the day
But not from November to May
The floor is littered
With woodchips and apple cores
And hulls (holes?) of acorns
There is a chattering sound
Because they were squirrels; real squirrels.
(And there were thousands)
This isn't some kind of metaphor,
Goddamn, this is real
Lyrics submitted by Mopnugget
Add your thoughts
Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.
Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!
it seems unlikely to think a guy would have a curling iron...if a person is using the labor of others to fuel such an appliance, i think it's safe to say it's a girl. the part about it not being a metaphor makes things difficult, though.
Anyway, I don't get this song. He says it isn't a metaphor...but it still doesn't make sense. Hm.