I wake up at noon to still see the moon with voices and choices coming well too soon.
To make the most of a fragile day or waste it away in a slump of decay.
Now when I tell you it’s hard believe me it’s hard, lack of motivation is just one of the cards, to be held and gathered like a prize of some sorts, but it’s really our demise that we must fort.
Till the next day and next day and next day and suddenly, it’s gone.
But gone is only a pawn overtaken by a rich and devious queen that keeps you up past dawn.
For she had her house full while I was a flush, whilst laden in my spirit was a deep groaning hush, moaning and aching for a sprite of glee, everyone knew this wasn’t the real me.
To my fans and onlookers, looking up upon thee, find yourself and treasure it, then measure it and pleasure it so you don’t end up like me.