Shut the *** up Bill Withers,
a lovely day my ****,

this day was tight, constricting
a day to be fcked in
and stop me if I'm going to last
or
too fast,
cast me aside
throw me away
but for **** sake don't tell me
it
was a lovely day.

Do you remember,
' a night unlike any other night...'
well
this was a day like so many other days
worked my fingers to the bone
got home and
She
kissed me better,

used ***** as a sealant
which to all intents
was quite pleasant.

But a hard day nevertheless.

Winter kicked the door in
did a bit of rummaging and
left this poor soul shivering.

I need no scientific explanation
as to why it's flamin' dark
I'm getting back into the bed
*** waking for a lark.

Debating whether to be late in
or not to bother going in
at all.

I'm looking at Armageddon
or maybe it's just the bed I'm on
that's giving me nightmares.

Nobody is there to tell you that nobody is here and yet we keep on looking,
consigned to the back of a queue where you become see-through and nobody sees you,

dismal and distressing when pressing send and it doesn't go but there's nobody here so nobody will know except for you,

everything is a trial and the error is a sponsored add-on
you try to get on and be judged but the verdict as predicted
goes against you and you're still see-through at the back of an even longer queue and then you think
I must be something in the Grand Scheme
or maybe in the Grand Bazaar
but so far
still looking.