Monday

Erratic orthodox, bright and grey,
A pandemonium of the day,
A simple white lie of the norm,
Preludes the black ice to the storm.

Delusions wrought throughout the years,
As crocodile, weeping tears,
A cry of pain laments within,
You'll get less than what's on the tin.

Come out, come out, come out to play,
For Mr Sun has come our way,
To melt in anguish, lest forlorn,
La Luna has now been and gone.

There's ice and fire, smoke and glass,
And drifting, fading, time to pass,
It's all too much and all too long,
Lament the night, cry out the song.