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Vending Machines
Mariel Buckley
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The lights under the stay on
A guide in the dark for the barely hanging on
I drive it back and forth every now and then
Drop you at the front doors, try to say goodbye again
The distant glowing embers of working men
In their rotten mouths are turning grey to red
Bouncing up like fireflies, dancing around their heads
Clutching at my chest whenever I see them drawing in
I will wait
Outside in parking lots with my dreams
Try to chase something pretty
Staring at the vending machines
It's always the choice between another round
Or staring at a colour TV
One bad call after another
I don't want to worry my mother
Started out strong, couple years of training
Couldn't hold the hammer yet, boys said I was entertaining
But lately I don't find I've got the feeling to improve
Now that I've got nobody to take my check home to
So I wait
Outside in parking lots with my dreams
Try to chase something pretty
Staring at the vending machines
It's always the choice between another round
Or staring at a colour TV
One bad call after another
I don't want to worry my mother
The kids come around it feels like December
When the lights go out again, it's only me
Take a walk to the corner
I'll hardly remember
Drink myself to sleep staring at a colour TV
So I wait
Outside in parking lots with my dreams
Try to paint something pretty
Staring at the vending machines
It's always the choice between another round
Or staring at a colour TV
One bad call after another
I don't want to worry my mother
One bad call after another
I don't wanna worry my mother