Danny’s in the basement; he don’t even have a clue.
He’s sleeping off a bender, and he won’t be around ‘til noon.
She’s counting every dollar.
She’s packing up her things.
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up. Of course he knew. He had to know.
Boss is in the back, and there’s three new cashiers to blame.
67 dollars ain’t enough to make a claim.
This job’s a dime a dozen.
So what if I get caught?
It’s easy, easy, easy when you’re down on your luck
to take a knife and stab your brother in the back,
step upon sidewalk’s cracks that break your mother’s back.
Oh, let’s burn the bridge. Oh, the bridge is burned.
My girlfriend’s in a frenzy ‘cause she’s 26 days late.
That little piece of plastic shouldn’t carry so much weight.
Before we even knew
I told her we were through.
It’s easy, easy, easy, easy to cut my losses
and turn and walk away like we don’t have no history
and start again with someone new with whom there’s mystery.
And no, oh, no, responsibility. Just burn the bridge.
But when I take some time to ponder out unkindness,
in my heart I feel regret, but in my head I plot my next pre-emptive strike.
My best friend Ethan’s brother went to bat for him last week.
Ethan owed some money from a losing gambling streak.
But once the debt was paid
he couldn’t be allayed.
Hit me. Hit me. Hit me. Hit me. Hit me one more time.
Into a hole he fell that he could never climb.
He called his brother once again but this time was denied.
Oh, the bridge was burned.