The clock strikes nine o\'clock,
and I am creeping from my bed
Pouring from paper ocean waves
(something\'s struck my head)
Someone phoned that thing again
standing in my room
Who\'s that god damn thing again
(here I then assume)
I laugh it off (it\'s off the hook)
It will admit to no crime
Won\'t someone disconnect that
line again?
That thing is past its prime
Sea salt turns to rustic patterns
(embers)(sand)(rush)
Someone\'s calling my name down there
The thing is dry as brush
Saunter towards the door (I did)
I seemed to be lost on applause
Shuffle out the door (I did)
But it was the thing that made me pause
My name dragged it on a string
(it beat me out the door)
My name stuck right on it\'s sleeve
(left me lying on my floor)