at night you bring home from work, feed the cats, take out the answering machine
smoke a cigarette, take a hot bath, shave something
brush your teeth and go to sleep
in the morning, eat an orange, feed the cats, go for a run
when you come back you drink coffee, you call your friends
you invite them here for Saturday
I'm watching you from the roofline, I'm your fly
sometimes I dream that I'm human, but to you I'm just a fly
evening, they say you're beaming but it's screwing you up
you drink too much, you get drunk and you throw the gang out,
you turn off the lights, the cats roam the night
again I'm watching you from the ceiling, I'm your fly
sometimes I dream that I'm human, but to you I'm just a fly
you make coffee and try to collect your thoughts
you tape a picture of a fat monster on the fridge door
you go outside and when you come back, you write a bunch of postcards
you're sorry for what happened, you'd rather send bombs
and that fly that surrounded you that morning
you squinted with a hesar next to a cup of coffee
I was a fly, I was a fly, I'm not looking at you from the ceiling anymore
I was a fly, and so while it lasted I was happy