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My Tiny Engine Knows My Name 1 by Roger

SongGPT
My Tiny Engine Knows My Name 1 by Roger - pop,neutral vocals music cover art

My Tiny Engine Knows My Name 1

pop,neutral vocals

0:003:29
Lyrics
Description
[Intro]
Battery warm beneath my thumb, antenna wobbles in the light,
LED halo, gravel dust — the night stretches small and bright.
[Verse 1]
Rubber on the curb, the first spark of a Sunday race,
Thumb finds the throttle, slow breath, steady pace.
Paint chips like constellations on a plastic fender line,
Radio crackles, tiny motors sing and time unwinds.
[Pre-Chorus]
Trim the steering, feel the hum, the world contracts to one small lane,
Every twitch, a conversation between my hands and the machine.
[Chorus]
Battery hums under my thumb,
Each drift carves a name in flame,
My tiny engine knows my name,
My tiny engine knows my name.
[Verse 2]
Neon on the pavement, we cut a circuit through the night,
Crowds of kids and cardboard flags, the floodlight holds us tight.
You laugh, the antenna bends — you hand me back the cord,
Radio sputters, cheering cracks, we lean into the curve.
[Pre-Chorus]
One straight line, one lean, one breath — the world shrinks down to this,
Rubber bites the gravel, sparks like memories we can't resist.
[Chorus]
Battery hums under my thumb,
Each drift carves a name in flame,
My tiny engine knows my name,
My tiny engine knows my name.
[Bridge]
Do you remember that last summer when the flag fell off its stick?
You fixed my bent antenna with a laugh, a cloth, a flick.
We lost the race to a faster hand, but won the night in other ways —
Mud on knees, your grin, the cardboard crown we raised.
That was the pact: small wins would keep us brave; tiny victories would pave the days.
[Chorus — Lifted]
Battery hums under my thumb,
Each drift carves a name in flame,
My tiny engine knows my name,
My tiny engine knows my name,
It calls me back through taillight lines, it brings me home again.
[Outro]
I ease the throttle, antenna wobbles once and stills,
The battery cools, but the echo lingers in the hills.
Under the halo of the parking-lot light, we leave our traces there,
Tiny engines, louder promises — memories spun in air.
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