Like a cloud his fingers explode

On the typewriter ribbon, the shadow grows

His hearts in a bowl behind the bank

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

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

And it doesn't seem to mean anything

It's just a dream he keeps having



He feels lucky to have you here

In his kitchen, in your chair

Sometimes he forgets that you're even there



It's just a dream he keeps having

And it doesn't seem to mean anything

It's just a dream he keeps having

It's just a dream

And it doesn't seem to mean anything