Atmosphere Not Another Day Lyrics

Not Another Day Lyrics

She caught the bus at 5:06

That's in the AM for all you little trust-fund
kids.

And it's a 45 minute trip

If she aint in by 6, she'll catch
another pink-slip.

And that's 3, and that means FIRED,

A coffee
thermice in the purse to help her keep wired.

The day-care where she
drops the baby off,

thank God it's on the same block as the bus-stop.



By 5:30, she's halfway there, 

And the back's already hurtin'
from the buses plastic chair.

"Live to work, to live, to work, to
live."

She's gotta feed the kid and give it all she's got to give.

Plus she's tryin'a catch a little overtime,

If she stays 'til 4 she
could be home by 5.

Shuts her eyes for the rest of the route,

And
keeps the head-phones loud to drown everything out

But the same old
song:



(Chorus)

Whoa, Whoa not another day.

Not another
day of the same old song.

Whoa, Whoa not another day.



Seems
like nobody even knew his name huh?

If he disappeared would they even see
the blank spot?

The only kids who might notice are the ones who push him
up and down the hallways and in the lunch rooms.

Sometimes he looks at
his bruises,

He wants to come to school with a gun like those kids on the
news did.

Nah man, they don't deserve to die,

And he's the type of
kid that couldn't murder a fly.

I guess you get used to the life,

Maybe that's why he refuses to cry.

Takes it on the chin,

Takes
it in stride,

What dosn't break you just makes you stronger right?



So he sits by himself on the school bus,

Hoping that today he
wouldn't have to put his dukes up.

But just like any other here they come
to fuck off with his comfort can't wait for summer.

It's the same old
song:



Whoa, Whoa not another day.

Not another day of the
same old song cumon.

Whoa, Whoa not another day.



Woke up at
the break of dawn when the city's blood-line starts to waste along.

The
generator on those public buses is enough to bust you out of any daydream your
stuck in.

I guess that's the chance you takin' when you camp out infront
of that transfer station.

And this town got no answers to chase man,
that's why he always sleeps near the transportation.

Pan-handling,
transient freedom. Transplant not from this region.

But when the wind
starts to whisper its lips he knows enough to pack it up and dip out before the
winter hits.



Childhood dreams washed down the gutter

Both
parents gone, no sisters, no brothers.

Weak memories, strong
paranoia,

While the same song repeats in his head

over and over and
over and over it goes:



Whoa, Whoa not another day.

Not
another day of the same old song cumon.

Whoa, Whoa not another day.

Not another day of the same old song cumon.

Whoa, Whoa not another
day.

Not another day of the same old song cumon.

Whoa, Whoa not
another day...