Laundry Room Toasts

(hummmmmmm) Under the fluorescent tube

Smelling like dryer sheets and cheap perfume

The opener got three songs to play

Toast a plastic cup to the fading day

My hands are cold like the spinning wheel

Trying to shape the way I feel

Spinning wet clay in an empty room

Waiting for the shape to bloom

Oh, spin it around,

let the water fall

We were shaping nothing at all

(ooh-ooh) Under the late summer sky

Inside this warm-lit laundry scene

Spinning cycles of what we mean

I remember the studio dust

Wet clay

turning into trust

Oh, spin it around,

let the water fall

We were shaping nothing at all (ooh-ooh)

Under the late summer sky (hummmmm)