It takes about one day a week of getting up before the daybreak
And running out in the world before you’re even half awake
CHORUS:
And they always say, «Kid, you got it made.»
It makes it easier to understand the drunks out in the street
They got their own type of prison and their own way to be free
Sometimes I swear I’d trade them places (I swear), for all I care,
’cause as it is, this cell is killing me
It takes about one day of waking up before the daybreak
Putting your shoulder to the wheel, then your nose against the windowpane
To salivate at the stimuli, it’s enough to make a grown man cry
It seems like such a waste, trading hours and trading days
Of time you can’t afford to throw away on someone else’s dream