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.