Sometimes I wake up in the morning,
My feet, my soul, my arms, my legs, my self, my eggs are all fried.
I've got to do my exams today,
I've read my books, turned up on time but I haven't revised.

I'm not getting along,
I'm not getting the answers,
I'm not getting along.
I'm not getting along,
I'm not getting the answers,
'Cause I can't get out of my head.

In the night sometimes,
I wake up uncool uptight, I'm tired of being tired, but in my dreams my arms are open wide.
I open up my eyes, open up my eyes, but everything is dark.
I think I'm blind.
(I think I'm blind.)

I'm not getting along,
I'm not getting the answers,
I'm not getting along.
Too dumb to use the phone.
I'm not getting along,
I'm not getting the answers,
'Cause I can't get out of my head.

No I, no I, no I can't get it out of my head.
No I, no I, no I can't get it out of my head.

This profession is my obsession,
And this obsession is my depression,
And this depression is my release,
And this release will never cease.