Verse 1 The clock upon the wall is staring down, Red numbers eating minutes,
counting down. Boots are pinching tight against the toe,
Dust is in the lungs and moving slow. Boss is barking orders from the stand,
Saying we are lucky in the land. Pointing at the ghosts of who was fired,
While I am standing here
and getting tired. Knuckles split from carrying the load, Ready to explode upon the road.
Verse 2 Break room smelling like the burnt caffeine,
Plastic forks are dirty and unclean. Posters on the block are smiling bright,
Helmets covering the lack of light. Tracking every minute in the stall,
Supervisors walking down the hall. Laughing at the pension
like a lie, Loud enough to cover up the sigh.
Pre-Chorus Growling in the chest just like a dog,
Moving through the heavy mental fog. Swallowing the orders till it hurts,
Stains upon the collar of the shirts.
Chorus We are rust beneath the hanging light,
Flaking orange in the middle of the night. They polish up the surface till it shines,
Ignoring what is waiting in the lines. Drag the amps into the loading bay, Plug it in
and blow the world away. Scream until the plaster starts to break,
Showing them the pressure that we make.
Verse 3 First chord hits the shell and bounces back,
Reverb running on the pallet stack. Vests are coming off and eyes are wide,
Nowhere for the management to hide. Boss is at the window looking pale,
Voice is lost beneath the heavy gale. Lyrics spitting invoices
and pain, Nailing every smile to the drain.
Pre-Chorus Not a revolution, just a crack,
Giving all the heavy anger back. Between the punch out
and the morning sun, We taste the battle that we haven’t won.
Chorus We are rust beneath the hanging light,
Flaking orange in the middle of the night. They polish up the surface till it shines,
Ignoring what is waiting in the lines. Drag the amps into the loading bay, Plug it in
and blow the world away. Scream until the plaster starts to break,
Showing them the pressure that we make.
Bridge One day back will fold and knees will go, Lungs are scarred
and moving very slow. Maybe I will hobble in the aisle, Wearing nothing
but a tired smile. But a kid will find the tape we made,
Listen to the anger in the shade. Realize the rage was not a mistake,
But the only freedom we could take.
Outro Horn is wailing, cut the power line, Lights go back to dead
and white design. But the rust has learned a way to speak,
Heavy in the middle of the week.
Rust Under The Lights
Rust Under The Lights