My mind is hurly-burly
And I cannot make it stop
For it keeps itself all whirly
In a permanent bebop
When the mind is always racing
And the eyes are feeling strange
And the heart rate is outpacing
A test pilot on the range
Then the minutes turn to hours
But the hours are too short
And you don't have all your powers
And you can't seem to abort
So the day is simply odder
And the mind is daydream fodder.
No comments:
Post a Comment