The days will come and the years will go.
Yes, time does fly, but it does not grow.
It seems to die, to wither away.
What once was a week is now just a day.
A month goes by and feels like an hour;
even the years have lost their power.
Yet I no longer sit and wonder how,
for, as you know, I'm used to it now.
A drink takes ahold, a lonely Tuesday.
Let slip a few more on "let's forget Wednesday."
Ah! My fridge is low as my self-esteem
dips even lower: no medicine.
The tolerance seems to build up quick.
Friday - twice as much to cure the sick.
It's not just beer to the numbing-seeker;
it's, like the week, just gotten weaker.
Your eyes once lit up like golden sunsets
on those first dates when we first met.
But, to me, your eyes now are nothing.
Do we need to shed clothes just to feel something?
I remember, before our love inflated,
a kiss was a fortune, not over-rated.
Yet now, it takes so much more to feel
a feeling once achieved so quick, surreal.