Wednesday’s woe has come again
Washing o’er my longing brain
All the way down the long dark drain.
Sat on a bench with naught to gain,
I stare on bleakly in the rain.
But lo what thoughts do I ordain?
I stand, I sit, I do refrain
From leaving down that winding lane
Instead I go, to another plane
In which the moon is on the wane
I stumble blindly on in vain
I care not for the passing train
The blowing wind doth keep me sane
From giving in, to the mundane
Yet Wednesday’s woe remains my bane