Plastic Toast

Static and warmth

in the laundry room

Smell of fresh linen

and late august gloom

Spinning around like a wet clay wheel I'm shaping the things that

I wanted to feel

(mmmm) You raise a toast with a plastic cup To the ghost

of the kid who never grew up

My hands are slick but my grip is tight Yeah we're turning

it up tonight

We could have been the masterwork

Shaped by hands in the spinning dirt

But we are just a beautiful spin

Let the night begin

(let it begin!)

Petty confidence on my sleeve

I make it look easy to never leave

Another cycle of rinse and spin While the clay

dries out on my

skin

Just a plastic cup toast

To our favorite ghost

Spinning, spinning...