So far the day’s flying right,
Dispelling night, dispensing light,
Causing coffee to brew on time
And words to wobbily rhyme.
The birds from their perch bitch
As I pull the paper from the ditch,
But it’s sunny and I’m alive still—
Just say it’ll be good, and it will.
At least that’s what they all said.
Trouble is, of course, they’re all dead.
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