May has ended,
luck luck luck.
June begended,
duck duck duck,
The leaves,
the leaves.
Those leaves are leaving,
trees.
Reverse the year my dear,
well not be seeing clear.
Twenty twenty is on Gregorian time,
and you know how he – liked to rhyme.
Personally,
It seems like fate.
Matching my date,
with not an eight.
Just threes,
sixes and nines be sure,
With a one in there,
solidarity assured.
annagram shramagram,
what’s the truth again?
They go by seven thinking its true,
But for half of us – its bound to rue.
Where as eight dot
double oh eight.
Is a much much better
better debate.
You go round yours,
and I’ll go round mine.
When they join,
we could decide on a time.
Instead we’ve been told,
to hang around.
wait in the middle,
for the others to come round.
There they are,
going around the bend.
taking to everyone,
like its a parallel trend.
When its time to stop,
and gather around.
They find an excuse,
and head off to ground.
Please explain,
To these my friend.
How on earth,
this is going to end.
Trumpets are going,
lightening and thunder.
Yet how do we know,
that were going under?
Look at the sun,
with lids down and shut.
Now do your stretching,
examining whats up.
shoulder pain?
hips bit sore?
go slide up and down,
the architraved door.
Stand up straight,
level out.
sort your self,
so the lights more bright.
When you’ve got out,
all the kinks.
Sort out shit,
like it really stinks.