Night Visions

Most nights, when I try to sleep
The muse strikes, of all times, you kidding me?
I write down a few words in the dark
A verse, a synth part, "To do tomorrow: art"

I don't know why, but when the words come
They all come at once, and they never seem to stop
And when they're flowing like a river it really makes me wonder
Why it took me seven weeks to make any headway on this track
Yeah, I'll never understand
I beat the keys like oceans without any sight of dry land
Melodies and harmonies just fall like rain, but
Why are lyrics such a pain?

So I go to bed feeling hopeless
And pray that some day I'll be better than just this
Lie down, close my eyes, say goodnight
And start thinking of my music, how dope it'd be if I'd only write
But just as soon as head meets pillow
Inspiration meets brain, and I'm caught in the middle
Do I let the lyrics die to sleep, or choose to listen
And get back out of bed and deal with all these night visions?

Yeah
(I'm seeing night visions, hey)
(I'm seeing night visions, ho)
(I'm seeing night visions, hey)
(I'm seeing night visions, ho)

I'd rather be counting sheep than giving count offs in my sleep
I'll never know why the sun drives them away
I guess it must be true, they say that art comes with the moon
So many songs never see the light of day

I'm a werewolf of song, 'cause once a month I'm a different breed
Different me, churning out all these tracks so easily
Can't let it be just another one time thing
The words that come surprise me when they're flowing so lyrically
Regrettably, words usually feel like a menace
And writing lyrics feels like pulling teeth at the dentist
Got my foot in my mouth, like, "I'm not sure if he meant this
When he sang it, did he realize the way that he sounded?"

I try, but my mouth's full of meters like braces
They keep me from straying too far from the basics
Or trying new things outside of my basement
I'll never write as many lyrics as I hit backspaces
So I lie awake at night telling bedtime stories
To my brain, trying to fall asleep before I'm forty
And my eyes are closed, I'm drifting off finally, but then
It's two AM and night visions start showing up again

(Most nights, when I try to sleep)
(The muse strikes, of all times, you kidding me?)
(I write down a few words in the dark)
(A verse, a synth part, "To do tomorrow: art")

I'd rather be counting sheep than giving count offs in my sleep
I'll never know why the sun drives them away
I guess it must be true, they say that art comes with the moon
So many songs never see the light of day