Song parody of
Keep the Receipts
by Benji Katz
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She struts up to the register clutching an armful of bargain Moscato
He demands identification, compliments her hair in the photo
Flatters a side of her no one's invited to see
In a barcode beep of bravado he asks, Where you going with that bottle
Of tomorrow's misery? Care to drink it with me
Janice just turned thirty-four and Dave don't consider himself a clerk anymore
Takes pride in undwinding with wine and a family of figurines
Tiny reminders he's not as alone as it seems
She's charmed by the fear in his voice, alarmed by him judging her alcohol choice
But he's harmless compared to companions down aisle thirteen
Will that be paper or plastic
There's a chain of transactions linking back to birth
The receipt reads like a grocery list
Of all the joy to be owed to the earth
They get slapped in the face by the morning after aborting the brains they were born in
A pleasant reprieve from lives they lead or are led by, rapture by the bedside
Dreams blend with reality, eight limbs locked in a fantasy
With four left behind by the time Dave makes eggs with her groceries
Because the sunny side's less forgiving than a stranger's company
He's sure to check if she's left ten items or less
Asks every unfamiliar face if they've found what they were looking for
They all say yes, but he can't believe or relate
Waiting for her to reappear whisper in his ear, Last night was great
But express-lane love affairs have an expiration date
Weeks go by in the wink of an eye
Janice gets promoted to her past life's purpose
Cornered in a cross-street office where neither direction leads
To where she'd thought she'd be on the other side of thirty-three
If not for the nameplate she'd be anonymous
A six-figure headcase of a conglomerate
As lost as a cashier cuddling a pillow dent and broken
As the silence of a non-disclosure note
It's hard for her to know the people she encounters
In an intimate position from behind a deli counter
But crossing boxes off of her list now makes her wonder
What the calory count would amount to if she ever
Sat down for a meal with a well-acquainted stranger
Let the candlelight illuminate the ever-present danger
Of unpacking what's been crushed at bottom of her bag
Restocking her shelves with the wealth she's always had
But shopping for more than one may not be so bad
His belt conveys the same message every day, nothing's going to change for Dave
Until some frozen meatballs and a dozen roses come along reversing fait
A couple of scans and they belong to one beautiful sight
Janice stands coupon in hand wearing an apron that don't fit right
Asking, Would you mind cooking for us tonight
Will that be paper or plastic
There's a chain of transactions linking back to birth
The receipt reads like a grocery list
Of every time somebody got hurt
She struts up to the register clutching an armful of bargain Moscato
He demands identification, compliments her hair in the photo
Flatters a side of her no one's invited to see
In a barcode beep of bravado he asks, Where you going with that bottle
Of tomorrow's misery? Care to drink it with me
Janice just turned thirty-four and Dave don't consider himself a clerk anymore
Takes pride in undwinding with wine and a family of figurines
Tiny reminders he's not as alone as it seems
She's charmed by the fear in his voice, alarmed by him judging her alcohol choice
But he's harmless compared to companions down aisle thirteen
Will that be paper or plastic
There's a chain of transactions linking back to birth
The receipt reads like a grocery list
Of all the joy to be owed to the earth
They get slapped in the face by the morning after aborting the brains they were born in
A pleasant reprieve from lives they lead or are led by, rapture by the bedside
Dreams blend with reality, eight limbs locked in a fantasy
With four left behind by the time Dave makes eggs with her groceries
Because the sunny side's less forgiving than a stranger's company
He's sure to check if she's left ten items or less
Asks every unfamiliar face if they've found what they were looking for
They all say yes, but he can't believe or relate
Waiting for her to reappear whisper in his ear, Last night was great
But express-lane love affairs have an expiration date
Weeks go by in the wink of an eye
Janice gets promoted to her past life's purpose
Cornered in a cross-street office where neither direction leads
To where she'd thought she'd be on the other side of thirty-three
If not for the nameplate she'd be anonymous
A six-figure headcase of a conglomerate
As lost as a cashier cuddling a pillow dent and broken
As the silence of a non-disclosure note
It's hard for her to know the people she encounters
In an intimate position from behind a deli counter
But crossing boxes off of her list now makes her wonder
What the calory count would amount to if she ever
Sat down for a meal with a well-acquainted stranger
Let the candlelight illuminate the ever-present danger
Of unpacking what's been crushed at bottom of her bag
Restocking her shelves with the wealth she's always had
But shopping for more than one may not be so bad
His belt conveys the same message every day, nothing's going to change for Dave
Until some frozen meatballs and a dozen roses come along reversing fait
A couple of scans and they belong to one beautiful sight
Janice stands coupon in hand wearing an apron that don't fit right
Asking, Would you mind cooking for us tonight
Will that be paper or plastic
There's a chain of transactions linking back to birth
The receipt reads like a grocery list
Of every time somebody got hurt
