Autopilot

Some days, when I wake, there’s nothing upstairs, Some days I’m blank and bare, Some days when I look at myself in the mirror, All I see is a dry empty stare. And all I can do is what I do every day, Automate my morning routine, Have a shave, wash my face, then get dressed for work, And do it all like a machine, Through the whole morning, the same friendly words, Still no flash light up in my head, Like a robotic pilot just doing my thing, While upstairs I feel like I’m dead. Some days, in the morning, I can’t think for myself, Free will has left me alone, Some days when I need soft velvety thoughts, It feels like my mind’s turned to stone.