If I separate my big dreams from humiliation
The common cold, any excuse
You know I'm not having fun
Let them all teach me the news

If I cut them off
Who will feed my self-deprivation?
The last one born
And the first to say, now what were you thinking?
Let them all clean up for you

In the morning
I roll over from such a strange dream
And the dream, it carries on around me

So there it is
You want the truth, but not an admission
The sycophants
The Monday morning self-immolation
It goes on

Until, in the morning
I roll over from such a strange dream
And thе dream carries on around me