I don’t know my right from my left,
And tomorrow is the first day
Of the rest of my life
Is what everyone tells me.

Are they living in a separate reality than I?
Or are they all just pretending
That the sky isn’t overcast,
And the sun shines brightly?

My heart has a migraine,
And it’s been this way since yesterday:
The last day of the beginning
Of my life.

The forecast tells that the weather
Will remain unchanging
Until I finally get out of bed,
But I can’t bear to see another wasted day.

My heart has a migraine,
And now I might know my right from my left,
But time remains restless,
While I continue letting drain the hourglass—

Will I ever get out of bed?