Sleep, dear me.

Oh! How I hate to get up in the morning,
Oh! How I’d love to remain in bed.
For the hardest blow of all
Is to hear the bugler call:
"You’ve got to get up this morning!"
Some day I’m going to murder the bugler,
Some day they’re going to find him dead.
I’ll amputate his reveille,
And step upon it heavily,
And spend the rest of my life in bed.

(1918, 'Oh! How I hate to get up in the morning' song)