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Melt'd

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🛒 Track: Supermarket Line
🎸 Genre: Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk
🕰️ ~92 BPM • 🎹 Key of E Major
🌀 Mood: Desperate Daylight • Groovy Dignity • Melodic Collapse

What do you get when you cross Thom Yorke’s lunch break, a can of tuna, and the sacred geometry of aisle four? You get Supermarket Line — a jangly, fluorescent-lit prayer for the overworked, underpaid, and emotionally microwaved.

This is not just a song. This is a midlife crisis with a loyalty card.
🍞 The bun? Stale.
🐟 The tuna? Radiating existential mercury.
👼 The chorus? Britpop angels chanting through a broken speaker near the discount wine rack.

Imagine Morrissey clocking in at Aldi. Imagine The Cure stuck behind an old lady counting coins. Imagine you, toe-tapping to your own slow collapse under strip lighting.

🎧 Highlights:
– Sparkling guitars that sound like someone trying to stay hopeful in polyester
– Bassline hums like a fridge full of regrets
– Vocals? A chant from the checkout limbo

💬 “I taste God in the checkout sign.”

For anyone who’s ever questioned reality while holding cat food and dignity in the same hand — this hymn’s for you.
File under: Grocery Store Gospel for the Emotionally Exhausted.

🛒✨ Add to cart.

Lyrics:

Lunch break burns — I’m on the clock
Holding a bun like it’s solid rock
Tuna can in the other hand
Sweat runs deep — I can’t stand

Fluorescent buzz, the air is thick
Someone coughs, the smell’s too quick
The queue’s a loop of loss and sigh
I close one eye and hope to die

Coins hit tile like death by drip
One more beep — I might just flip
A child screams next to discount wine
The speaker plays "You’re doing fine"

Oh mine — oh mine — standing in the supermarket line
With a bun and a can and collapsing spine
Oh mine — oh mine — they say this wait is "by design"
But I taste God in the checkout sign

The old girl counts her silver slow
Like each cent holds a tale of woe
She buys cat food and winter bread
And I rethink all I’ve ever said

No cart, no grace, just tuna oil
And this slow-roast public boil
Behind me breathes a man too near
His cologne: regret and fear

They loop a song from ’99
I fake a smile like "I’m just fine"
But this feels close to some defeat
That ends in tears and processed meat

Oh mine — oh mine — still trapped in the supermarket line
With my dignity on the bottom line
Oh mine — oh mine — I’m one beep from a holy sign
But salvation costs €2.99

No one’s famous in aisle four
Just saints of sweat on vinyl floor
We carry lunch like holy weight
And wait for joy… that shows up late

Oh mine — oh mine — I dissolve in the supermarket line
There’s no escape, no grand design
Oh mine — oh mine — I’m a hymn in fluorescent shine
And this bun... is borderline divine

"Next customer, please…"

Supermarket Line

THE BLACK JULIAN CASABLANCAS 🌃
Features/Bookings: Mgmt@heath240.com

OH, WHAT A WRETCHED NIGHT

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