Mr. Gladhand from Mood Swings by August on Sunday

Mr. Gladhand

Walking in and out the same hallways
A hundred years, a life.
Spin around the same turnstile, same subway station
I can’t catch a ride
Must have dialed the first six digits of your number a thousand times
but I never pressed send
It’s getting harder to crack a smile and easier to pretend

I’m holding out for Mr. Gladhand
he’s holding up a wreck
I’m holding out for Mr. Gladhand
I guess I’m holding up the rent

Nothing ever worth the risk was easy
at least nothing I’ve ever tried
Living like a child on a country mile of avenues
trying to get by
Wrote you a letter full of bad punctuation and honest thoughts
I know you never read
It’s getting harder to crack a smile and easier to pretend

I’m holding out for Mr. Gladhand
he’s holding up a wreck
I’m holding out for Mr. Gladhand
I guess I’m holding up the rent

I don’t know where it’s coming from

• Hippie grunge
• Rock
• alternative rock
• blues
• love rock
• punk
• Brooklyn