Each night the dream began: we were sitting here waiting on our coffee cans,
Eyes fixed upon the skies, I was thinking of you and if I qualified,
Then when the trumpet blew the reality hit: this wasn’t pay-per-view,
My can lifted up and out ‘til a siren wailed and a megaphone shouted…
Pull that bucket over,
Let me see your registration,
You’ll be questioned at the station by a good cop/bad cop,
If they find you guilty they’ll impound your can in Hades, where the grounded lads and ladies had it good ‘til the last drop.
I watched the others fly on their coffee cans as the waved goodbye,
Freed from the earthly grind, they had escaped the roast,
I’d been identified,
Dream police nowhere to be found,
I was left here choking on the muddy grounds,
Calmed down and reached for my Pez, but the head on the dispenser was Juan Valdez.
Pull that bucket over,
Let me see your registration,
You’ll be questioned at the station by a good cop/bad cop,
If they find you guilty they’ll impound your can in Hades, where the grounded lads and ladies had it good ‘til the last drop.
Tossing in my sleep again,
The metaphor was wearing thin until my nightmare stretched it even more,
Lord, you placed this bitter cup against your lips and drank it up to bring me where you are,
I can’t believe I’ve wandered off this far.
Woke up, smelled the coffee,
I don’t like what caffeine does to me,
God’s got a pull; I’ve felt first hand,
I’ve got to stop, believe in my coffee can.
Pull that bucket over,
Let me see your registration,
You’ll be questioned at the station by a good cop/bad cop,
If they find you guilty they’ll impound your can in Hades, where the grounded lads and ladies had it good ‘til the last drop.
Bad dream, but I understand that you can’t get to Heaven on a coffee can.
