If you wake me in the morning,
Bring me tea and scrambled eggs.
But if I’ve bloodshot eyes,
And I can’t move my legs, 
I’ve likely a thick head.
So it’s better to let me lie.

If the car won’t start, it’ll be ok.
I’ll call it a sign and then, instead
I’ll go inside and hang up the keys.
I’ll get undressed and lie back down.
I’ll set an alarm and pretend
It’s actually Sunday instead. 

So don’t wake me in the morning.
I’m probably still drunk. Or maybe, 
I just stayed up and lost it altogether,
Scribbling and scratching,
Drunkenly cogitating,
Pulling the fluff from my navel again. 

So don't wake me in the morning.