Ah, uh, oh yeah, well right, it's all good, yeah
I'm writing this before I go to bed
That's obvious, I couldn't write it, where
In bed? Of course not, so I write instead
Before I go there, before my old head
Turns off its light and heads toward dreamland
Now you might think about the things I've said
And decide that they're bollocks. They are, and?
You think there's no value in that? I planned
It that way, having tried making sense, pear
And apple, I'm no Cockney, right said Fred
But I know everything is built on sand
I learned it in Sunday School back somewhere
Last century, when young brains were unfed
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