Can’t things be perfect once again? Until then . . .
© 2020, Steven E. Cutts
A Studio C Recording
with Jayson Byrd on electric guitar
You would think that I’d been losing sleep and staring at the ceiling in the dark
Making lists and lists night after night of why it is our prospects seem so stark.
You would think that I would sweat and toss and turn from ten o’clock to early morn.
But the truth is I’ve been sleeping like a baby hiding from a perfect storm.
Wake me up when this is over. Let me hide my head ‘til then
In a sand dune of oblivion. Can’t things be perfect once again?
End my happy hibernation; send me word when this has passed.
But for the moment let me slumber; you just hold on to my number;
Call when I can smile at last.
You would think that I’d be staring at the TV tracking all the breaking news,
Cursing out the dumb reporters and dismissing idiots they interview.
You would think that I’d be taking notes from folks at National Public Radio.
But I’m catching up on “I Love Lucy” reruns and “The Jackie Gleason Show”.
Wake me up when this is over. . . .
You would think that I’d be drinking in some seedy bar and crying in my beer
With a glass of gin or whiskey sobbing all the while, “This should not happen here!”
But I’m trying to stay sober, keep my wits about me, fight the urge to scream.
Ah, what the hell! Just pass the bottle maybe one good belt will send me back to dream.
Wake me up when this is over. Let me hide myself in Thee.
Where’s that solid Rock of Ages in this current misery?
End my happy hibernation; send me word when this has passed.
But for the moment let me slumber; you just hold on to my number;
Call when I can smile at last.