Morning shoots me up and already I’m aching back and head
Shaking myself out of bed and my eyes are all frosty, you know like I’ve been
Crying in my sleep or something, what was my dream again
Probably a memory, I hear they’re all the same as dreams to your brain
I’ve made my history a list, list, list
Right here, right now that list is this
In no defining order, across a tape recorder
I’ve got a sentimental hoarder disorder or I’m just taking the piss
I lose sleep but keep my new, defeated face away
As my limbs creak and break, awakening all those dreams or memories
What’s worse than third-person recollected thoughts?
Like I’m already a dead man spending more than what he ought to
I’ve made decisions out of love and fear
Either way, I’ve landed nowhere near
To understanding this idea of happiness
It’s too heavy to embrace in case it wanders off and disappears
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