the days of the merry tale have retired, spellbound -
by the mediocrity of our tedious dreams.
we are now engorged with the truth.
and oblivious. we astound the yawning void
with our audacity to refrain
from giving a ****.

but the Mondays have rain so soft
it could melt an atom.

and those are the days we turn into Us.
and i forget what's wrong.