Time is an illusion
Keeping me in place
Best kept under my skin
Or his briefcase
And I, I am tired of
Singing to the same four lonely walls
Screaming, "Encore"
Every time I mess up
And if it works out
And I end up in tune somehow
I'll be thankful for this time alone
In my little, in my little room
I've been waiting
A quarter of a century
And now, I'm living in a memory
Prone to pathetic fallacies
And if it works out
And I end up in tune somehow
I'll be thankful for this time alone
In my little, in my little, in my little
