Days are the ones that count away shots
Of intelligent delusions on which we pretend to walk
Yesterdays intonated happening
Is just one more I’ll joust away crying
All of our good intensions are only
Some blighted day-lights shining on a particular manner
On one integer square of this story-tell
You could’ve been the last buried smile
But clouds rained away our unspoken tomb of grief
And consequently I’d close my tear-filled eyes again
Telling you everything was alright
But for now
I’ll throw it on normal norms of coincidence
That thoughts of illusions make moments like these
What they become, and what we became
A symphony of daily routines
On which we are forced to run