Sometimes it's alone in your room where you must feel unstable
The gambler holding a match to the side of your eye
The Sun cape crowds your head pounds rounds into the chamber
But your head's still there in the morning

If hands were designed to deceive then conceived I have gladly
With these worn out unchangeable strings my hands tend to play
But their chains of a certain design made of lies, rhymes, and allegory

But the job's still there in the morning
And each house you have buried so deep in the mind of your masters
Who closed their eyes to the war on the rim of our stars
And whoever saint soldier sinner or the obsessor the shadows are unbroken
But the Sun's still there in the morning

The holy machine tends to reject any incantations
That you made to live like you'd liked to have lived at your best
And it's the dealers of downers who engulf and perfect your imagination
That guided eye of some my-er my in a styrofoam vest
But even if my guides forsake my darling

And stolen whatever has drone inside of my home
I sleep well through the night neath the beast is the thief and the provider
And the choice is still there in the morning
So rejoice with me in the morning
Rejoice with me in the morning