Like a cloud his fingers explode On the typewriter ribbon, the shadow grows His heart's 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 traveler's 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