It's catastrophic, hypnotic. I'm lost in thought and I can't get up.
What was I still doing up?
My mind, made with sheets of glass, that feel too much like ash.
There's so much to do, with nothing to say. I'm late, I'm late: wasted the day away.
So push it to another day.
I use to pick, but now I'm being picked.
I didn't even ask to play.