I’m crawling down a space
Within my hidden eye
I’m happy to be there
But the other four are jealous

The lights are being shut
They committed suicide last week
I found them hanging over the TV remote
With a happy tear between them

Sleep is though not one of
My priorities
If I ever had any

I’m on my feet now
A candle burns the way
Through the waving tunnel
On my back I carry my dripping
Bag of daily rubbish

On the other hand though
I’ll never have to wake up early again