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The Waiter Lyrics
The waiter wakes up from his sleep. He grabs his apron and catches the 3
and he thinks to himself, “I live the same day over and over and over again,
just waiting for my life to begin, but the dreams that I dream will still be there for me in the morning.”
He’s got a hangover to shake off and a fake, plastic grin to put on, and he’s serving the servants, with little to no reward for his futile effort to ensure their experience pleasurable, and as the check arrives, they put a dollar amount on his worth and head off back to work, and he wonders if they’ve ever worked half as hard as he works every day as he tallies up his pay and earns his $2.15 with one final hour of cleaning. It’s back breaking work.
But soon it's over and the crew is headed over to the bartender's house.
This nightly ritual will fast become habitual in this line of work.
The bottle's open. There's a conversation started. There's a joint being passed around and we're amazed at the amount of free time we have found, so let's lift up our drinks and give a toast to this sleeping town. The bars are all closed, but for us, the party's just beginning. A time for working class dreamers to catch up on how we've each been living.
"Hey there stranger.
It's been a couple of years since last time I hung out with you.
I guess we've both been busy hanging out with our respective restaurants' crew.
I heard you're in a new band. Well I am too"
"Well I'm glad we've both got something constructive to do.
Now let's dive in our drinks and think about bigger things will we're dizzy."
The world's got a fever, and we're talking medication.
And if our job's an apartment, then we're thinking about relocation.
Soon the party's winding down, the bottle's empty and the bowl is cashed,
so we propose a toast and everybody lifts up their half-empty glass.
We toast to fools who's times have past,
and fools who's times have yet to come
and toast to how the waiter's always waiting for life to begin.
The waiter wakes up from his sleep. He grabs his apron and misses the 3.
And he screams all around, "I live the same day over and over and over again,
just waiting for my life to begin, but the dreams that I dream will still be there."
and he thinks to himself, “I live the same day over and over and over again,
just waiting for my life to begin, but the dreams that I dream will still be there for me in the morning.”
This nightly ritual will fast become habitual in this line of work.
The bottle's open. There's a conversation started. There's a joint being passed around and we're amazed at the amount of free time we have found, so let's lift up our drinks and give a toast to this sleeping town. The bars are all closed, but for us, the party's just beginning. A time for working class dreamers to catch up on how we've each been living.
It's been a couple of years since last time I hung out with you.
I guess we've both been busy hanging out with our respective restaurants' crew.
I heard you're in a new band. Well I am too"
Now let's dive in our drinks and think about bigger things will we're dizzy."
The world's got a fever, and we're talking medication.
And if our job's an apartment, then we're thinking about relocation.
so we propose a toast and everybody lifts up their half-empty glass.
We toast to fools who's times have past,
and fools who's times have yet to come
and toast to how the waiter's always waiting for life to begin.
And he screams all around, "I live the same day over and over and over again,
just waiting for my life to begin, but the dreams that I dream will still be there."
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