There's nothing worse than a successful Scotsman
As he writes into his book
He'll jot you down and steal your soul
And give you a two dimensional look
He'll turn you into an anecdote
Critics they know this is how you create something
He can't just write about what someone did
There's a fire in my guitar
There's a fire...
Back to you, attack of the clone
I'm living in the Twilight Zone
Are you following me, are you in my shoes?
Monday morning after a sh*t Saturday
The weather is too bright today
I'm taking it personally
I'm tripping past
I'm a mafia of mums
But you weren't there
And now I'm torn
Should I go to the skip in Pittenweem
With the old stuff from the shed
Or should I write a song about fiction
Or maybe just go back to bed
You can't pretend you work if you're sleeping
I can't pretend to know what's going on
You can't pretend to work if you're sleeping
I can't pretend to know what's going on
I can't pretend to work if I'm sleeping
Do you know who you are, and what's going on?
I'm not gonna talk to a therapist who doesn't exist
About my lack of existence
I'm not gonna talk to a therapist who doesn't exist
About my lack of existence, or solipsism