The sun rises too soon
Morning comes like an accusation
The dawn melodies of the birds once were of a creativity
Now all they sing are emphatic repertoires of dirges, that tremble my very bone

The stillness in the air is doused in old hopes and frail dreams..
And lingering disappointment
The air is too thick...
It's asphyxiating  

Walking the halls of monotony
Forced enthusiasm is now for real

Much like a leech the mid-afternoon sun ***** the life out of your soul
So you cross your fingers and hope that existence will not make a loser of your soul
That would be the greatest tragedy

When the night comes
The leaves start falling
Happiness was never in season anyway.