Letra de Squirrel Song - Shellac

This is a sad fucking song
We'll be lucky if I don't bust out crying

How does it feel?
Your night light
Your curling iron

Lit up by the sweat of others
For pennies a day
But not from November to May

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The floor is littered
With wood chips and apple cores
And hulls of acorns
There is a chattering sound

Because they were squirrels
Real squirrels
And there were thousands
This isn't some kind of metaphor
Goddamn, this is real