Days at 63rd
Sunday free time is full of noise
Grumbling, banging my name the voice
It's sad so sad at 63rd
Monday wakes with a slap on the face
Dash to the toilet, no time to waste
Busy, noisy hateful days
Tuesday in love with Monday's race
Wednesday is at war with peace
So many feasts of fists and fits
Thursday come along with memories
Of the good old days now sinking
Friday's happiness is always frozen
Time with God, I beg an ending
It's when to pray for days upcoming
Saturday is hefty with worthy abuses
And Sunday peeps once again
Reminding me that one pretty day
63rd would be a white smoke of the past
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