You don't see the dead until you're asleep and
that's where they've got you,
somewhere between the night and the day where
the spirits of long ago play with your mind.
The clock by the bed sings a song and the thread
of it goes as time itself slows into one long
snoring.

When the heat of me sinks into the core and they see that
I've drifted away into the between of the night and the day,
they start their play,
leaving the light on gets me through but I'm tight on the cash and they laugh,think it's funny that I've got no money,
dead boring.