From the recordings Hopefully More than a Blanket of 'I' Statements and Hopefully More than a Blanket of 'I' Statements (Streaming)
Lyrics
{Bridge 1} Catacomb, pheromone, a pantheonic Pleasuredome, and Terrordome, a holocaust—encaustic; cost? You call my phone. I don’t respond. I don’t pick up. I wake up late like what the fuck?! I’m next-to-none, anathema. My readying for my funeral on memory foam, an enemy known, a comforting company—feathery down. Where rather be now, where rather be any, a many misfortune to forting my sanity. Amnesty granted by self for enacting a pact that was made on my own satisfaction. A Mayan would never see such an asylum; they’d carpe the damn diem until the sun stopped working. I must be eating turkey. Tripping on the tryptophan is kryptonite—Achilles’ heel. Perpetual inertia birthed the turgid flirt unbounded. There’s too much to do, so I’ll sleep like I’m dead. {Hook 1} The art of shirking is best achieved from a horizontal position. I’m a professional recreator re-creating recreation. One sleeps the hardest on the softest of surfaces. 1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3 o’clock, 4… {Verse 1} I woke up with a groggy fuck-the-sun demeanor. Every early-bird’s incognizant to what that they’ve been missing for the past eight hours. I can’t recall a thing about the past eight hours—cataleptically amazing! No more poultry wake-up calls. I’m self-sufficient in my languoring lingering affluence—my abdomen and all it’s apogees. Hah, what? The afternoon is on the brink of ending, more so the day. All of the fast food chains stopped serving breakfast already. That’s okay, but where’s the coffee? I really be needing the coffee. I’m itching and screaming in fetal position; the fear of relapsing my caffeine addiction. I’m thinking I’m feeling the migraine. I’ll be needing an Ibuprofen and hoping the moment of soaking the dope in is coping the inflammatory response. All the while, pound after pound and pounding on my head—I said, I’m wishing I hadn’t been missing my re-up and should’ve been staying in bed. Today’s already off to a bad start, and I’m feeling fucking lazy. I’m not even gonna’ rhyme new words because I’m lazy like I’m feeling like my DJ on a bad day. *I’m so lazy.* Huh? But wait—personification at work, you know the most enticing thing of permanence found in every home? Haven’t you heard?! It’s the bed! What’s more wonderful than my bed?! It’s been calling my name since I got myself up out of it. The bedroom, always with plenty of bed-room. So monumental is the fixture that it gets a room named after it. Asterisk/warning to the unacquainted novice: my advice is that you don’t combine the bedroom with the office—*it’s a trap!* Recreational users, use for six to eight hours, once daily. Insomniacs, you will die early. Prolonged exposure to a bed may cause one of the following: lethargy, digestion, weight loss, drooling, loss of skin, eye crust, mad friends and relatives, nightmares, good dreams, lucid dreaming, wet dreams, loss of job, insanity, and premature death. {Bridge 2} Toblerone, shoulder bone sensated on the mattress—sweet as a la mode and equally deplorably egregious. Anemic, a seamless defect to my species and my genus’s surrender of a one third of life to be diminished on a bed or a throne—whatever you know? To love or to loathe is to each to his own. A 22-catch in well-being or living—the mark-up on healthcare’s a bitch when you don’t. Sleep’s the root solution to me solving all my problems. I’ma look life in the face and then retire to my pillow. Brillo Pad upon my cranium, nomadding matter may become the knack for narcolepsia—my abnormal superpower. Now or never, I’ma break the record for the most amount of time been wasted waiting to wake up again. Waiting to wake up again? Waiting to wake up again?! I woke up and went back to bed! {Hook 2} I wanna’ be the dude that gets to test the hotel mattresses. The Nobel Peace Prize should be given to Lew Wallace. I’d do the whole rock climbing thing to sleep vertically in the air. 1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3 o’ clock, 4… {Verse 2} Another day, another dollar; wipe my ass and pay the piper. I’d rather be beneath a haven of a higher thread count. Counting all my obstacles and unforeseen atomicals, the nominal sacrifice of life is so fucking worth it! Like, *Whose world is this? The world is yours…* Yeah, if you live off power-napping like Napoleon Bonaparte did. I’m a nonchalantly motivated, recluse-esque, and novocaining stress in motorcading Tempur-pedic advocation. Analogous in both nature and computer application, in that some devices need to be getting replenishment more often. It goes restart, shutdown, screen save me from myself.
Follow the two-step process. I’m not needing anything else more than a Brillo Pad—something you wish you had! Mine’s a mobile headrest that I’m taking advantage of in any situation that I’m given, no matter environment. The mind over matter is first on the ladder, a physiological fact. Offer me any type of circumstance: carpet, linoleum, futon, hardwood, water bed, haystack, hammock, marble, cot, grass, tile, clay, cardboard, sleeping bag, concrete, trash heap, bunk bed. Bed-head always, morning-breath, sometimes—sleep away all day! Stay awake all night! Morning-wood, wake up! Fornicate? Fuck no! Fix the problem yourself. I’ll stay comatose—sorry! I probably got a panda-pandemic, but know if gold they said is valuable, sleep must then be worth its weight in gold. I want an air conditioning unit with a “meat locker” setting, so I can make it through Floridian-sleep without sweating my ass off! And lights to be configured for me to clap on, clap off. A bedpan, so I don’t have to get up to use the bathroom. I don’t need pajamas to be professional; I wear my clothes to bed and both the insides of my eyes are painted beautiful. {Bridge 3} Home-alone overdose, I’m on the tenth alarm I set. The option to hit snooze again is what’s temptations testament. Now I wanna’ stay asleep. I pray my phone alarm won’t beep, but if it does wake me awake, I pray the lord—ah, fuck it… *So, he laid himself down meaning to sleep ‘til daylight. He still, however, slept on, and didn’t awake ever.* {Hook 3} The unconscious are some of the nicest people in the world. Bears, you and I think a lot alike. West Nile virus or lethal injection? 1 o’clock, 2 o’clock, 3—WAKE UP!!