The Small Faces Follow

(Burton Cummings)

Don’t wanna listen to my telephone ring

Or sing ding-a-ling or talk about a thing

Not this morning

Don’t wanna think about the night before

Or maybe it’s a bore behind an open door

Got no time for that this morning

If I had the mind or I had the time

Maybe I could throw together a new kind of rhyme

And tell about my warning

But it’s too late now.

It's too late now.

It's too late now.

I don’t wanna think about a runaway dad

That took away the only thing that I never had

Don’t even miss him this morning

I don’t wanna think about a cold goodbye

Or a high school buddy got a little too high

I can’t help him out this morning

Reviewers laugh at me so I go out to sea

And perhaps it’s just as well cause I’d rather be in hell

Than be a wealthy man this morning

But it’s too late now.

It's too late now.

It's too late now.

Whatever happened to images cause now they’re gone

And worn-out phrases just keep a hangin’ on

Whatever happened to homes as opposed to houses

The conversation sinks as the evening drowses

It’s just like 46201.

It's just like 46201.

Whatever happened to early morning open skies

And broken faces, half with melting eyes

Enough of riddles that just play with time

Cause I’m still here and I can’t beg a dime

I’m back here in 46201.

I’m back here in 46201.

Something better's waiting for me around the corner now

I got to find it and try and hang on for a little while

I'm back here in 46201.

There's gotta be a few small changes made

Don’t wanna listen to my telephone ring

Or sing ding-a-ling or talk about a thing ...

Leave me alone this morning.