Cabin fever, Sunday blues.
Lying on the kitchen floor.
Wishing you might come around and lift me up,
cause I'm all out of good ideas...
And I've been wondering if I could have kept you in a jar,
kept the lid on for good.
'Cause I know we can't go back,
or keep time from running.
And I'm all out of good ideas,
but you know that honey...
It's a sorry kind of summer,
but I know a thing or two about duck and cover,
cut and run.
And I'm longing to get rolling with the band,
wide open sea,
back to what I need...
Chart a course for somewhere I know I can disappear.
I'm trading places with the man in the morning paper.
'Cause I know we can't go back,
can't keep time from running.
And I'm all out of good ideas,
but you know that, honey...
It's a sorry kind of summer,
but I know a thing or two about duck and cover,
cut and run.
And I'm longing to get rolling with the band,
wide open sea,
back to what I need...
Cabin fever Sunday blues...

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