Is it you?
The stairs creak,
they tell me to go to sleep.
But they keep me awake
they give me no break.
It becomes now harder and harder
to close my eyes and move forward.
So here and now, not too early, not too late,
I set my sights on Monday in awe.
Why Monday? Why not Sunday?
I’m on my feet singing on a highway.
Monday is the beginning.
Sunday is the ending.
With nothing in the middle,
With nothing in between,
I kept you warm in the winter,
then I let you frozen in the spring, dear.
I would have loved to play your game if I could –
when you bring me down, messing with my mood.