I’m gone, but I’ll miss this.
Sings at funerals and weddings, often the same week
the numbers
- bpm
- 99
- key
- G major
- energy
- 0.66
- dance
- 0.89
- valence
- 0.52
- vocal at
- 2.4s
- length
- 3:02
- language
- En
lyrics
Six-fifteen, my boots in the locker room, tea gone cold in a chipped white mug. Clock on the wall got a cracked-face gloom, and the line’s still long by the rusted plug. I’ll fold my hi-vis in the way I know, one last sweep for the screws and tape. The floor’s all scuffed where the trolleys go, and your orders land like a paper weight. I hated the smoke and the spill and the shout, the metal door banging at half past five. Still my hands know every inch of this route, and the old place hums when I pull the latch wide. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this. By eight-twenty, the sink’s full of suds, my apron’s wet and my knuckles sting. Mick from the bay floor nods through the dust, and the radio coughs through a worn-out string. I cursed every rung on the loading dock, every broken latch and the frozen key. But I know the shape of that morning knock, and the smell of rain on the factory lee. I hated the hours and the grease on my skin, the mould on the tiles and the paint that peels. Still the old yard kept me standing in, with the rope frayed thin on my heel. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this. Now the canteen chair scrapes once on the floor, I sign my name with a dry blue pen. There’s a dent in the door where I always swore, and I’ll hear that clang when I’m home again. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this. Last shift, last shift, last shift, last shift, I’m gone, but I’ll miss this.