1. After either hiking or driving for an entire day
The last thing he wants to do is toss and turn the night away.
If there’s a rock or root, you can bet his tent’s on top of it.
It’s not about comfort but avoidance of the opposite.
Freezing cold in damp clothes, shifting all around.
He tries to find a suitable position on the hard ground.
That’s a fool’s errand, such a thing doesn’t exist,
But the rest of us are slumbering like nothing is amiss.
Which only serves to make the contrast more maddening.
Physical exhaustion and his conscious mind are battling.
Punching his travel pillow, it’s not clear who he’s cursing.
Is it us or himself or is it not even a person?
Twigs cracking outside, he’s the only one aware.
Is it a rodent, deer, wolf, man, ghost or a bear?
Insects on his flesh seeking blood to devour.
Summons all his power to resist checking the hour.

Chorus: Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Eyes closed, not even a light doze.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.
Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Getting desperate for even a brief respite.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.

2. Southern Utah, Panguitch made the Saint anxious.
Nagged by a sense of hostile strangeness.
A vague feeling of unease, neither common nor logical.
He insisted that we camp as far away from town as possible.
Stop 1: way off of the road in the pines,
We found a clearing that would’ve worked fine, except
We found a torn-up phone book and heard howling hounds,
So the Saint thought we needed to get further from town.
Stop 2: saw something in the tree. When we drew near,
Hanging from a branch was a field-dressed deer.
Heading back to the van, not feeling too brave,
Found a patch of fresh dirt about the size of a shallow grave.
Stop 3, according to the Saint’s lament,
Was “rockier than Jim Tressel,” whatever that meant.
We finally arrived at a tiny campground super late,
And except for Dutch, we slept great.

Chorus: Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Eyes closed, not even a light doze.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.
Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Getting desperate for even a brief respite.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.

Bridge: The Saint sleeps soundly (Dutch can’t sleep).
DeLange’s all conked out (Dutch can’t sleep).
Flowers is fast asleep (Dutch can’t sleep).
Brent’s definitely sleeping (Dutch can’t sleep).
Eric Meeder’s not awake at all (Dutch can’t sleep).
Steve’s sleeping like a log (Dutch can’t sleep).
Baby’s sleeping like his namesake (Dutch can’t sleep).
You know the Drent boys are asleep (Dutch can’t sleep).

3. When we can’t bear another night spent in the tent,
We look for the cheapest hotel room for rent.
Something with a door and a roof overhead.
Something with a shower and a couple of beds.
If we had known why we might’ve decided to camp,
But at the Lewis and Clark, the whole carpet was damp.
Steve slept on the floor anyway because
He kept thinking how filthy the bed sheet was.
At the Sun and Sand the showerhead pointed at the wall.
You had to duck to wet your head if you were five-plus feet tall.
A bar of soap fused to the towel, and the towel-rack
Completely disassembled when I put the towel back.
Indecipherable odors and spiders on the ceiling.
Lumps in the mattresses, wallpaper peeling.
And yet we all slept a sleep deep and wondrous.
Every single one of us except one of us.

Chorus: Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Eyes closed, not even a light doze.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.
Ohh-ohh. Dutch can’t sleep.
Getting desperate for even a brief respite.
Dutch can’t sleep. Ohh-ohh.
Tries to try to not try all night.