Supercommuter Songtext
von Supercommuter
Supercommuter Songtext
Tell me when it clicks.
Tell me when you get it.
Tell me when you don′t need me no more and then we'll hit it.
Insert. 3-2-1-mark.
Push down, twist it to the left, make a spark.
Then I′m off. Streak through the sky like a bullet.
Hit stage 2. Grab the handle and pull it.
Will it disengage? Listen for the snap.
Yeah, that's a good sign. Two falling back.
Super Commuter. Totally committed.
Skin-tight white spacesuit fitted.
Super Commuter. Feel it now I float.
Speeding straight out, add another zero.
No ozone. Egg dome. Straight back chair.
Gold chrome. White-hot rocket in the air. Solo. Sterilized panel in my view.
One port hole. Peep out. Yeah, nothing new.
Black canvas, white drops of light.
Inside, regulated artificial sunlight.
Biorhythmic architect on deck.
Keep it 72. Life signs correct.
What did you expect? A robot for this?
Yeah the last one got chopped, blown to bits.
Yeah I'm alone in this. My hypothesis is
That big spaceships are prone to fits. So
25 meter diameter disc pad.
Where I sleep, where I eat, keep the lid latched.
And when it wriggles loose, I′m the one to fix that.
Twist that dial into dispatch.
Tell me when you enter.
Tell me when it burns.
Tell me when you don′t need me no more and the we'll learn.
Insert through the atmosphere,
Then begin work. Figure out what happens here.
Start shaking. Pull lever back. Lower speed.
It′s taking too long, readjust gravity.
When I touch three feet, then I lower ladder down.
Slowly step out just to have a look around.
Click defog. Try to stand.
Two white boots sink deep into dark blue sand.
Poof. Puff. Clouds in my wake.
Enough dark stuff, soon I can't see shapes.
So I wait. Let the dust dissipate.
Trust homebase, make 20 roamers activate.
Watch them roll away, then I′m alone.
Turn around, step up the ladder, head home.
I never really made any friends in this.
But I'm not bitter, it′s just part of what the business is.
And the pay is good, but the path is hard.
But enough of that, type another mission in the log.
Now I'm back. No ticker tape or hand clap.
Just another chap in a jet pack.
Float to my pad. No messages.
But I don't get mad. I expected this.
See I′m a man of many long obsessive lists
That never get checked, just shredded to bits.
And when the sedative kicks in, I′m headed to sleep.
Pass out to the countdown. I launch in a week.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Tell me when you get it.
Tell me when you don′t need me no more and then we'll hit it.
Insert. 3-2-1-mark.
Push down, twist it to the left, make a spark.
Then I′m off. Streak through the sky like a bullet.
Hit stage 2. Grab the handle and pull it.
Will it disengage? Listen for the snap.
Yeah, that's a good sign. Two falling back.
Super Commuter. Totally committed.
Skin-tight white spacesuit fitted.
Super Commuter. Feel it now I float.
Speeding straight out, add another zero.
No ozone. Egg dome. Straight back chair.
Gold chrome. White-hot rocket in the air. Solo. Sterilized panel in my view.
One port hole. Peep out. Yeah, nothing new.
Black canvas, white drops of light.
Inside, regulated artificial sunlight.
Biorhythmic architect on deck.
Keep it 72. Life signs correct.
What did you expect? A robot for this?
Yeah the last one got chopped, blown to bits.
Yeah I'm alone in this. My hypothesis is
That big spaceships are prone to fits. So
25 meter diameter disc pad.
Where I sleep, where I eat, keep the lid latched.
And when it wriggles loose, I′m the one to fix that.
Twist that dial into dispatch.
Tell me when you enter.
Tell me when it burns.
Tell me when you don′t need me no more and the we'll learn.
Insert through the atmosphere,
Then begin work. Figure out what happens here.
Start shaking. Pull lever back. Lower speed.
It′s taking too long, readjust gravity.
When I touch three feet, then I lower ladder down.
Slowly step out just to have a look around.
Click defog. Try to stand.
Two white boots sink deep into dark blue sand.
Poof. Puff. Clouds in my wake.
Enough dark stuff, soon I can't see shapes.
So I wait. Let the dust dissipate.
Trust homebase, make 20 roamers activate.
Watch them roll away, then I′m alone.
Turn around, step up the ladder, head home.
I never really made any friends in this.
But I'm not bitter, it′s just part of what the business is.
And the pay is good, but the path is hard.
But enough of that, type another mission in the log.
Now I'm back. No ticker tape or hand clap.
Just another chap in a jet pack.
Float to my pad. No messages.
But I don't get mad. I expected this.
See I′m a man of many long obsessive lists
That never get checked, just shredded to bits.
And when the sedative kicks in, I′m headed to sleep.
Pass out to the countdown. I launch in a week.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Writer(s): Joshua Michael Myers, Andrew James Hartpence, Andrew David Myers Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
