Im stupidly tired but im not at all sleepy,
Ive booked in with old Sandy but he doesnt want to see me
Ive tossed all the turns and ive counted all the sheep
But i there aint a thing to do, to get to fuckin sleep.
Been from Memory Lane to conversation street
From accidents of old to the new people i meet
Through every nook and cranny in every thought thats in my head
Out of all the thoughts ive got, i still cant get to bed
So i open up my typewriter, start to write a prose
And not even writing, will ever help me doze
So i sit here and i scream and i sit here and i yell
And ill sit here without dreams, but with a story to tell.