| Every morning he got up dreading each moment he had to be awake |
| He’d look at the floor and scribble on gum wrappers |
| He never found a better way to joke around |
| The clock would tick and time was slow |
| There wasn’t anywhere that he wouldn’t go To avoid having to see anyone |
| He’d sit in a chair and lean against the wall |
| He just didn’t seem to matter much at all |
| But late at night, he had a savior |
| In his sleep, in his dreams |
| She came to him and she said |
| «Poor you, poor you |
| No one understands you |
| Poor you, poor you» |
| And every word that everyone would say |
| Got mumbled up in his head |
| Like mumblejumble and everywhere he went |
| It seemed everyone was saying to him |
| «Blah Blah Blah» |
| But late at night, he had a mistress |
| In his dreams, in his sleep |
| And she would say |
| «Poor you, poor you |
| No one understands you |
| Poor you, poor you» |
| This story, though not well told |
| Is not that old |
| It’s not that funny, it’s not that great |
| But I know it to be true |
| Because late at night, I have an angel |
| In my dreams, in my sleep |
| And as she runs her fingers through my hair |
| As I lay on her lap and she says |
| «Poor you, poor you |
| No one understands you |
| Poor you, poor you» |