The Mourning Routine - Dangers

Rise and shine.

And then one day you’re thirty and life tries to pass you by.

Rise and shine.

And the sun gives like and Injun', and trades what dreams may come for

bloodshot eyes.

Just shut the blinds.

Go back to sleep.

Perchance to dream.

Perchance to be or not to be: aye, there’s the rub.

When all our friends wear a suit and tie the knot with grace and breastfeed the

chubby face of their conjoined DNA… Oh, what if they’ve got it right?

‘Cause then one day you’re thirty, your bed feels like a grave.

I can’t get up today.

And the indent in her pillow is all the proof you have of dreams she was

willing to… Leave behind your troubles.

Lullabye your blacks and blues.

That’s what they whispered as they rocked you to sleep.

And you know what they said?

Well, none of it was true.

‘Cause sleep is but a thief and dreams are but a

whore.

Sunrise.

Sunshine.

And I will rise.

And I will shut the blinds.