Coming out of sunday.

So much is left to chance.
Left to mush, coming out of sunday.
So many sleep in deeply.
Midday cuts thin.
And the weekend´s sweeping.
As close as the floor to your face...
As close to dust as you and I...
Coming out of sunday
-Into a monday cliche.
Those well groomed excuses.
For a misused existance.
Your sense is a recluse.
And your destiny lost in the distance.
Next week´s played tricks.
No real fortune tellers.
Coming out of sunday you are...
One wet blanket hungover.
Pray for sun and mercy as you leave yourself out to dry.