As a sprightly rapscallion I shan't say
That I have time enough to seize each day
And gain ten hours of sleep again by eight
To grind my daily bread and romp too late.

Some days, the likes of which most fond and free,
Bountiful inertia grabs hold of me
By way of teeming thoughts so compelling
That notions of sleep are worth dispelling.

These are the days when dreams forget the time,
And soak the brain without reason or rhyme.
I've possessed genius far beyond my years,
A plan uniting fire within my peers:

The hope to alter all that's in our way
And get better rest the following day.