Well, I woke up this morning in a cloud of despair
|
I ran my hand across my head,
|
pulled out a pile or worried hair
|
I went to my physician who was buried in his thoughts
|
he said, "Son, you've been reading
|
too much Elephant Talk"
|
|
He said, "The thing about depression is,
|
well you just can't let it get you down,
|
you have to see the world for what it is:
|
a circus full of freaks and clowns
|
and you'll never please everybody,
|
it's a well established fact",
|
he said, "I recommend a fifth of Jack
|
and a bottle of Prozac"
|
|
What can you give a man who has everything
|
can you give him back his edge,
|
can you make him want to sing?
|
No, you can only take from him,
|
and there's nothing he can do
|
I've got the driving me to drink and eat
|
a bottle of Prozac blues
|
|
Well, I woke up this morning and I shaved of my head
|
by the time I realized what I had done I was already dead
|
I went to see the gatekeeper standing by Heaven's door
|
he said, "I hope you brought a good supply of... you know"
|
|
-----------------
|
Prozakc Blues
|
| King Crimson |
