I wake up late
Because I don't like competing with the midday sun
I prefer dreams
Because I know nothing can be more real

I rise late
And keep myself hungry
Because you're a better meal
Than bread or water.

I don't appreciate your knocking
On the door when I'm dreaming,
But I find it easy to offer you an ultimatum
It's either me, or the dying sun

For the rest of our time.
Forget the midday, for that is passed
It's just I, black eyed I,
And the rest of the grey dying day.