The story
He keeps holding on as the weekend slips away.
He clocks out with the whole week still clinging to him, but the house is quiet and the light keeps fading. Every small thing—the phone, the chair, the door—feels like it’s waiting on somebody who won’t come, and he stands there trying to make the hours mean less. By Sunday night, he’s already bracing for Monday.
No lyric sheet is published for this track, so this reading is drawn from its title and the sound of the record.
Lyrics
The lyric sheet for this one isn't published yet — press play and listen along.