Perfectionist I am,
but able am I not
A look inside my mind
and all you'll find is rot

True worry it may bring
to witness all this waste;
to look behind the mess
and see my living space

But worry not, dear sweet
for rain is coming soon
to wash away my past
and all the sadness too

The Spring is rolling in
along with all its age
I'll be okay again
and then I'll clean this place