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Once there was a man | Who had a little too much time on his hands | He never stopped to think that he was getting older.
Once there was a man Who had a little too much time on his hands He never stopped to think that he was getting older. When his night came to an end He tried to grasp for his last friend and pretend That he could wish himself health on a four-leaf clover It's three o'clock in the morning You get a phone call from the queen with a hundred heads She says that they're all dead She tried the last one on It couldn't speak, fell off And now she just wanders the halls Thinking nothing, thinking nothing at all Once there was a man Who had a little too much time on his hands He never stopped to think that he was getting older. When his night came to an end He tried to grasp for his last friend and pretend That he could wish himself health on a four-leaf clover Once there was a man
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