It starts every Sunday afternoon 
Been this way since I was 2

I feel like my life is ****** out
By demons with human bodies 
Short and stout

I see my job
My enemies and fears
Line up to drink in all my sewerage tears

I shake with icy shivers
I fear the takers and the masked givers
I wake up Monday with diarrhea 
Tuesday sings onomatopoeia 
By Wednesday I rise from my waste
I face Thursday with crusading haste
By Friday I bleed from a silicone cross
I dread next Sunday 
I force feed loss
But psalm after psalm says do not dread
There is something more than this after you're dead