 |
|
|
|
|
|
(Browne/Maitland)
Sometimes
When I finally reach the end of the day
Where I've been I couldn't say
Meantime
I repeat myself in this familiar scene
Like a xerox machine spins around
They built it in
Some days things can be perfectly clear
And the next day hopelessly blurred
In the rear view mirror reflects
All those things I left behind
I'm a butcher I'm a baker
I'm a midnight undertaker
But there's nothing else on earth I'd rather do
Me myself and you
Monday
Turns to friday in the spin of a wheel
And the price of my next meal
Meantime
When the only one who's making any sense
Is the drunkard on the fence
Between me and what's real
(Chorus)
Someday soon we will all meet again
It's impossible to think that we have somehow reached the end
So here's to all our imaginary friends
The butchers and the bakers
And the stirrers and the shakers
And the hookers and the takers
And the addicts and the achers
And the midnight undertakers
And the rollercoaster fakers
Still there's nothing else on earth I'd rather do
Me Myself and you
|
|
|
|
|
|
