4 o'clock this morning nI was Woken from a dream nIn which my bones were reassemblednIn a minor league museumnAnd blaze children with their worksheets nHad to find out who I was back thennWhen I used to walk the earthnChurning out my finely crafted songsnnAnd sloping to the bathroomnThrough the darkenss of the landingnI sat down to have a pissn'Cause it was easier than standingnAnd imagined my exhibit being nCrated up for storage in annAirtight basement roomnArchived where it probably belongsnnnnI look at you and fail to understandnJust what it is that gives you wealth and famenWhen so many people seem to have exactly what you've gotnBut somehow it never quite works out the samenIs it luck?nIs it friends?nOr is it something more obvious that I can't see?nOne thing I'm really certain aboutnIt isn't aimed at guys like menIs it only me that thinks you're an obnoxious poser?nOr does everyone else think so too?nStrutting around like you're gods gift to the worldnWhile you disciples form a disorderly queuenWell let me play devils advocate for a momentnAnd publicly state that you are scumnI can tell from the howls of disapprovalnThat I'm in a minority of one. nYeahnnAnd now I'm through with avuncular diplomacynI've stopped saying I think I need to hear some morenCause this stuff is rubbish, I can't stand it that's thatnAnd I don't care if I sound like a dinosaurnI never thought I'd come across like my dadnWhen I played my Ackles, my Love and my Shy LimbsnAll I can say, is I suddenly looking in the mirrornAnd I found I'd turned into him