The night of a thousand verses,
One thousand friends said,
Have you heard, what we expected,
We are all working late and,
Waiting to win a prize we don't deserve,
And live to collect it.
Can't you see I'm weary,
Maybe this news can wait.
The night of a thousand verses,
One thousand striver's strain to hear,
A voice that's left us,
And the magazines still have to sell us,
Twelve master geniuses a year,
It's all so shameless.
Can't you see I'm weary,
Maybe this news can wait,
Can't you see I'm blurry,
Maybe this blues can wait.
Maybe there was a message in it,
I don't know where you hid it,
Maybe there was a piece that will fit,
I don't know how to fit it,
Tell me what kind of prize can you get,
Where you don't want to win it?.
Maybe there was a message in it,
I don't know where you hid it,
Maybe there was a piece that will fit,
I don't know how to fit it,
Tell me what kind of prize can you get,
Where you don't want to win it?.
Can't you see I'm weary,
Maybe this news can wait,
Can't you see I'm blurry,
Maybe this blues can wait.
