the sky was gray
a dismal day
the water was still without you
my mind was astray
the rain made clay
there's just something about you
the stars have lost their shine
like marbles in the sky
the whole world seems lost
and i think that i know why
you left me on a sunny day
gone without a trace
now the world is filled with sorrow
everything is gray

On Sundays the creatures
Ooze from their awkward dwellings,
Like fat worms after a downpour,
And rush the City.

They infect silently with their sick eyes,
They brush along your shoulder in passing,
They exchange ***** money,
They cause accidents.

They stare at you from across
Your favorite diners
With black coffee depression
And mutter underneath their breaths:
"This isn't real."