Knocked out by cloudy daysn(Golden sunshine turns to gray)nEach day I clean my facen(Rub my eyes and say)nIf clouds don’t part I fear a rain could wash my brain awaynnKnocked out by clouded visionn(Oh, for nearly eighty days)nAnd this is my inflictionn(Dark clouds on the retinae)nnDay 81 will find its waynOh well, so what? You’re mind might fadenYou’ll love the way you look with your perception fresh decayednnIt’s only clouded visionnThis is my inflictionnBeen having for daysnI don’t worry anywaynnMy eyes are coming out of the socketsnFists clenching tightly in my pocketsnnKnocked out by cloudy daysn(Oh, for nearly 80 days)nEach day I clean my facen(Dark clouds on the retinae)nKnocked out by cloudy daysn(Golden sunshine turns to gray)nI rub my eyes and saynA rain could wash my brain away