I broke free on a Saturday morning
I put the pedal to the floor
I headed off on Mill’s avenue
And listen to the engine roar
My broken house behind me
And good things ahead
[?] Cathy wants a little of my time
Six cylinders underneath the hood
Crashing and [?]
I listen to that engine whine
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I played video-games in a drunken haze
I was seventeen years young
When my knuckles punching the machines
Taste of scotch rich on my tongue
And then Cathy showed up, we hung out
Trading swigs from the bottle of bitter and clean
Locking eyes, holding hands
Twin high-maintenance machines
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I drove home in the California dusk
I could feel the alcohol inside me hum
Pictured the look on my stepfather’s face
I was ready for the bad things to come
And I shifted as I pulled into the driveway
The motor screaming out, stuck in second gear
The scene ends badly, as you might imagine
In a cavalcade of anger and fear
And there will be feasting
And dancing
And [?] next year
And I am going to make it through this year
If it kills
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
If it kills me