One mid-afternoon, all gray and dreary
My monitor just went all smeary
My eyes were definitely bleary
My mood? Unequivocally weary
The blues were bound to be my song
The blahs were coming on real strong
The week had grown to be quite long
Though, scientifically, that's wrong
Each week has but seven days
The same for straights as it is for gays
You can be adorned with Hawaiian leis
But time marches on always
We're all time travelers, you see
There's nothing else that we could be
Time can't be stopped, from sea to sea
The seconds tick; the lifetimes flee
And still we grumble, gripe, and shout
Frustrated fools who have no clout
And just the time I've figured it out
I forget what it was I was talking about
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