In Arrears

I stay up too late as a matter of habit
It’s when the clucking in the head is signaling a think’s gravid
And going to drop an egg out; better not sleep through
Better hope to have a microphone handy, too
Here’s a handy clue: it’s a two part story
Go to bed in the end, get up in the morning
But don’t ask the third act, it happened as I slept
Meant to maintain consciousness, wasn’t adept
What was it I kept meaning to do, make happen
From quarter to two until Gm come tapping
Like “Frontalot, you ought to come on out of your room.”
Says through the crack in the door that he can smell my perfume
That I haven’t been to bed in a week. Come, come
That’s a slight exaggeration and I’m almost done
With a brand new record, if I could just locate
The edit window that I first intended to create

Spin around
What does it do to your inner ear?
Your account:
Don’t pay the dues?
You are in arrears
What I’ve found
Is we get just another day or two
Falling down?
Dizziness does that to you

Eventually give up on any thought that I got;
Settle into the rotation of the loves-me-not
And the bed’s right there but it don’t quite beckon;
Try to sit upright for another couple seconds
And another knuckle reckons itself uncracked
Can’t remember what I’m looking at, rewinding it back
Trying to find an exact definition for the phobia
Of getting into bed, I think instead I’m about to go to the
All night Brooklyn coffee supply
Making terrible decisions and I don’t know why
And my oh me oh, what is it to be oh?
Digital clock come creeping on the three-o-o
But lying in the dark is worse
And I may be in arrears with the sleep but averse
To trying to accomplish (is epic how I fail)
In opposition to the pillow, pillow prevails