My fingers itch and so does my mind
I sit here with my guitar about to write music of some 
kind

The latest weeks of pasta has turned my belly into a 
balloon
And the lack of toilet-paper has made me look like a 
baboon

Maybe I should try to write a Mc Donald´s-kind-of-song
Real easy to chew for everybody from Oslo to Hong Kong

I dig and I dig for a profitable hookline in my headÂ…

But when we think we got it
Our million dollar hit
We throw the chords around a bit
And no one understands it

It´s kinda hard to admit
Our expected monster hit
Has turned into a pile of shit
And no one understands it

No one understands itÂ…