The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.

Now we'll have to find some other way to keep the children safe.
Eve's been at the drawing board to segregate the human race.
Falling from an altercation, you're put in a situation,
Denied access to the one thing bound to stop you going under.
Now you'll have to face tomorrow with no hope to beg or borrow,
Once you count it up, you know, you're gonna find it's not enough.
Your only hope's to cook the books, pray the man don't choose to look you up.