The Jazz Butcher
The Jazz Butcher Lyrics Running on Fumes

Lyrics

Running on Fumes
Running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
Nothing in the tank, nothing in the bank, everybody's running on fumes
Running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
If you don't come around in the next ten minutes, everybody's running on fumes
Existential threats pile up like mashed potato snow around my door

They say that fear's a man's best friend and every day it seems that I have more
I'm gonna throw a party and I'm gonna take requests
Send out invitations to the people I detest
They've been dying for some entertainment, you know the rest

Because we're running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
Lemmy and Bowie and Prince all gone, everybody's running on fumes
Make your own entertainment, that's what you're gonna have to do
Make your own entertainment, while you slowly come to understand your stupid dreams aren't coming true
We're running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
Hermann Hesse, Mackie Messer, everybody's running on fumes
When I said we could be ghosts, I didn't mean for you to disappear on me
Well I hope you're feeling better, hope your life is all you wanted it to be
But I don't know what I should do with all this stuff you bought
And I can't understand how all we had just came to naught
You can color me distracted, you can color me distraught

Cause we're running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
People like us can't have nice things
Everybody's running on fumes
No escalators, no dumbwaiters, fuck this shit, I'll see you later
Vintage Burmese dinner gong rings out all down the wing

Tiny cans of Coke for free, is that what you chose over me
Companionship, security, I just can't take this seriously
Any moment now somebody's going to say toxic, that's for sure
Yes cause people love to talk that way, and people only ever make me bored
Now I'm squirming like a salmon that's been landed by a bear
I didn't see it coming and I didn't see you care
Is there anything as cheap as chasing profit from despair

We're running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
Light up that gaslight, lift that broom

Everybody's running on fumes
Running on fumes, running on fumes, everybody's running on fumes
There's a bloody great elephant in this room
Everybody's running on fumes
Everybody's running, the futility is stunning
Everybody's running on fumes

Found On

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The Highest in the Land
It's not often that an artist gets to do a Bowie by consciously carving their personal epitaph into the grooves of their final LP. The Highest in the Land is that rarity of an album, and it could not have been made by a more brilliantly poetic and fearlessly sarcastic writer than Pat Fish, also known as The Jazz Butcher.
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( www.tapeterecords.de )
[The Highest in the Land cover thumbnail]
Tapete Records CD/LP/digital

Live Stats

4 documented performances (click to explore)
2020 1 (Pat Solo)
2021 3 (Pat Solo)

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