Life in the Middle Eight

Sun rises on a summer's day Shuffling its beams, as if eager to get underway Head is sll pounding from the night before I stumble from bed, my feet unsteady on the bedroom floor The day passes in an endless haze Watching the clock, eager to be free of this maze When evening arrives and I stumble home To dream of a me, when I'll no longer be alone We aren't the chosen - Not the gi%ed ones Not the captains or kings - Not the fortunate ones We're not part of the verse - For we've no story to tell Nor part of the chorus - We're never loved so well We live in the middle eight A variaon on a theme We live in the middle eight The modulaon of a dream This is life in the Middle Eight Tho' my feet may be molded of clay I dream of something be*er some day You may think I lack what it takes But what a difference a dream makes Someday I'll fly free of these Middletown lives And be free of the middle eight Sun sets on a summer's day Exnguishing its beams, as if eager to be underway And be free of the Middle Eight