I need to write a happy song
Something to break through this
Grey fog of emotion
This putrid state of
"Meh"
This perpetual cycle of internal mental apathy
After all

Complacency kills.

Main street
The ebb of traffic leaves me sick

This is a city of repetitious fits
Transparent monotony

Day breaks;
Presence aches.

Someone cries.

Someone dies.

Happiness is your self-made bliss.
Go seal it with the billionth kiss.

Night falls;
Repeat it all.

Perfection lives in a goldfish bowl.
Swimming in eternal lonely circles.
No bills.
No commitments.
What fun it has to be.
Guess The Boomtown Rats got it right
Maybe "The Fine Art of Surfacing" could be exciting.
(C) LIVVI

going through endless monotony
a new decision, but not for me
every day as it was and will tomorrow be
but how, how can it also be me?

greatness, i know, is in store for you
things you will never believe is true.
But  what do we do,
monotony starring back at me and you.

oh how difficult could it ever be
just doing something, just for me
people starring back, back at me
a jury and i'm the one to plea

enough is enough, "me being bold"
this story of me is done being told
my life, none other than me
will be the life i will lead

here i stand, myself and me
enjoying the feeling of being free
yes, lucky you might think of me
but freedom is also waiting for thee

Albums of our love,
Immaculate tales  .  .  .
Bound skins without film.

Despondency...
painful monotony,
familiar quilt-
morphing into me
weaving waves
of tidal loss-
an itchy loneliness

While the birds begin to sing their songs
The sun climbs silently into the sky
Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day
The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes

He gets ready for work and puts on a tie
Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding
He sees during the day but its only a lie
Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting

As the sun creeps quietly down to the West
The dreamer lays his head down to rest
Escaping his reality to something more real
He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal

Light sets the scene as it infallibly does,
The dreamer alone but feeling no fright
Rosewood, as usual, the door appears
Gold handle glowing bright in the light

Behind the door is an unknown world
A world without convention and without ties
The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle
Indefinitely pondering a world without lies

While the birds begin to sing their song
The dreamer reopens his eyes
He could only think of the rosewood door
And how he did not want to wear a tie.

and here we were, the kind of people who try to stop the world from spinning so ******* fast. Killing time, making money to spend to make that time killing bearable. This made up our lives; but, for a few days in the year we truly lived .