Well, everything happens on Tuesdays, endless miles of complications,
But there are no sinners in heaven and we’re all above our stations.
And I miss you most on Fridays, assorted dreams of self-starvation,
And I can’t see for looking, I can’t make no observations.

We’ve all got so much to learn.
We’ve all got books to burn.

Well, nothing ever happens on Sundays, and I can’t speak for all this talking,
As a corpse strides round my kitchen I guess it’s just a dead man walking,
I had a dream the other night in which I could smile, I didn’t care,
And I could fly and walk on clouds. Oh, how I wanted to stay there.

We’ve all got so much to say,
I just need somewhere to stay.

I’ve never killed a man in my life, that’s an awful thing to do,
But I hired a hitman by the waterfall and he’s coming after you,
I’ve seen the monsters and the harlequins, those creatures seemed more scared than me,
I’ve had my share of restless wonder, I’ve had my slice of vanity.

We’ve all got so much to do.
We’ve all got weaknesses too.

Well, everything happens on TV, but my face was designed for radio,
I ‘m clutching at straws of independence. Do you dare me to let go?

This here is my personal credo,
A list of all the things that I know.
I know I’ll cry again tonight.
I know I’ll dream and I’ll take flight.
‘Cos I don’t want to fight.
I just don’t want to fight.