Wednesday morning 3 am
The lights are out
And the days not begun
I light a candle and I wait for the sun
I don’t know why you don’t know
That I am having no fun
I watch you sleeping
All wrapped up in your own head
And I make your breakfast and I make your bed
You are cooked you’re fried you are battered and you’re baked
You call it love and you act like its hate
Wednesday morning 3am
Thursday might come around
But Im so lost I couldn’t tell you when.
The willow of the whisp and the tumbleweed
Are blowing through the future scattering
Doubts, fears and the seeds
The seeds of destruction, the seeds of remorse
I would ride right out of town
But you stole my highway boots and my horse
Wednesday morning 3 am
Thursday might come
But I can’t tell you when
You say you got on the bus
You tell me you took the ride
That the blue bus station was like
Heaven in your eyes
But I’m telling you that you missed the train
You lost the last threads of the plot
You act like a diamond in the rough
But instead you are the fools gold
I mined, gambled on and lost.
Wednesday morning, 3am
Thursday could be round the bend
But I can’t tell you where or when
I’ve been walking barefoot up the mountain
For many a year
I’ve fed on the berries and I’ve run with the deer
And now that the sun is sinking by the riverside
I put you in the mirror even though you run and hide
I guess it doesn’t matter what day it is only that
Time is getting late
And I have nothing left to waste on someone
Who squanders the treasure of time away
Wednesday morning, 3am
Today will be the last time
That you get to tell me where
Or tell me when
