Pyjama Days

When in the morning the fog of the streets
Dresses our window pane
We roll around, killing cats in our dreams
These pyjama days
We cannot be roused by the garbageman shouting at cars
To get out the way
Nothing will break the spell we are under
These pyjama days
Oh, these pyjama days
Right when her friends, sitting at desks
Begin the day checking their e-mails
She’s on the carpet, clipping her nails
These pyjama days
Oh, these pyjama days
Will I strike gold in this world of the next
We live our lives in vain
She’s in the other room, shaving her legs
These pyjama days
And when the evening streetlights come on
Our little stomachs aching
We dine on doughnuts older than Rome
These pyjama days
Oh, these pyjama days