Sunday, Sunday, just before Monday.
Its slow its calm – just before the storm.
And why oh why does it feel so warm?
When the sun don’t shine on this rainy day.
Sunday Sunday, just another day.
Why does it feel like we’re in a daze?
I got mash and meat running down my face.
At the psych ward life has no pace.
Why oh why does it feel this way?
Why does it feel this way today?
The psych ward is slow on a warm Sunday.
But not for long – tomorrow is Monday.
The Pent Up Poet 
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