Like a cloud his fingers explode
His hearts in a bowl behind the bank
And every evening when he get home
To make his supper and eat it alone
On the typewriter ribbon, the shadow grows
His black shirt cries
While his shoes get cold
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
One summer, a suicide
Another autumn, a travelers guide
He hits snooze twice before he dies
And every evening when he get home
To make his supper and eat it alone
His black shirt cries
While his shoes get cold
It's just a dream he keeps having
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
In his kitchen, in your chair
It's just a dream he keeps having
Sometimes he forgets that you're even there
He feels lucky to have you here
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
It's just a dream
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
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