Clock out?
Nah, time’s a flat circle.
The work doesn’t stop,
just shifts shape,
turning into bills,
broken promises,
and existential dread
with a side of Netflix.
But yeah,
I’m absolutely thrilled,
grateful to be here,
dancing on this hamster wheel
with all the other
ensoiastic corpses.
Since life’s a gift,
right?
And I’m just unwrapping it
one disappointment
at a time.
Don’t leave your purse on the floor
Don’t Leave Your Purse on the Floor
They say it leaks luck,
spills fortune like loose change
through the cracks in cheap linoleum,
slipping under tables,
getting swept up with dust and forgotten receipts.
Money’s got a mind of its own,
and it hates being disrespected.
Drop your purse down,
and you’re telling the universe
you don’t care if it stays or goes.
And trust me—
it goes.
It creeps out in the night,
one crumpled bill at a time,
slipping into the pockets of strangers,
feeding vending machines that jam,
fueling bad decisions you swear
you never paid for.
It’s not just superstition.
It’s a warning.
Since the floor isn’t just dirty—
it’s greedy.
It’ll suck the life out of your leather,
leave your bag sagging,
heavy with everything but
what you need.
You’ll feel it in the dry scrape of your card
getting declined,
in the empty echoes of your wallet
when rent’s due
and all you’ve got
is lint and regret.
So keep it off the ground,
close to your side,
where it belongs.
Since once you let your purse touch the floor,
you’re not just losing money—
you’re inviting everything else
to fall apart with it.
Nah, time’s a flat circle.
The work doesn’t stop,
just shifts shape,
turning into bills,
broken promises,
and existential dread
with a side of Netflix.
But yeah,
I’m absolutely thrilled,
grateful to be here,
dancing on this hamster wheel
with all the other
ensoiastic corpses.
Since life’s a gift,
right?
And I’m just unwrapping it
one disappointment
at a time.
Don’t leave your purse on the floor
Don’t Leave Your Purse on the Floor
They say it leaks luck,
spills fortune like loose change
through the cracks in cheap linoleum,
slipping under tables,
getting swept up with dust and forgotten receipts.
Money’s got a mind of its own,
and it hates being disrespected.
Drop your purse down,
and you’re telling the universe
you don’t care if it stays or goes.
And trust me—
it goes.
It creeps out in the night,
one crumpled bill at a time,
slipping into the pockets of strangers,
feeding vending machines that jam,
fueling bad decisions you swear
you never paid for.
It’s not just superstition.
It’s a warning.
Since the floor isn’t just dirty—
it’s greedy.
It’ll suck the life out of your leather,
leave your bag sagging,
heavy with everything but
what you need.
You’ll feel it in the dry scrape of your card
getting declined,
in the empty echoes of your wallet
when rent’s due
and all you’ve got
is lint and regret.
So keep it off the ground,
close to your side,
where it belongs.
Since once you let your purse touch the floor,
you’re not just losing money—
you’re inviting everything else
to fall apart with it.