Well, I've seen lots of better days,
body stretched out exactly where it lays,
consciousness lost in a misty haze,
heart loosing track of its hypnotic pace

I scribble not knowing what the hell I mean,
this poem among the cheapest I've seen
Anna tells me to lean on her; I lean,
but at times I consider myself quite mean

The being ”me” is twisted and sore
When I've had quite enough I'm getting some more
Fate attacks, it splits the core,
it tears again what it already tore

I approach Sune in vain, my old southern friend,
invite him up here, but to no end
He just won't appear, though I twist and bend
my arguments, in the emails I send

His apartment down south is a mighty crammed place,
I never quite understood why ever he stays
It's not that he lives in a wicked maze,
but there must be something that he can't face

If he'd come north to Anna's farm we'd have so much fun,
we'd listen to the shots from neighbor Tommy Gun
and see three horses as they run and run,
while we keep serving one another many a pun

But, you know, at least Kilroy himself was here,
so if Sune won't show, and his grounds for that are unclear,
he might have good secret reasons not to come near,
and ”no” will remain the only clear word I'll hear

But as it is, although not quite a glaring disgrace,
wherever I put something is where it stays
The god I don't recognize holds back on his grace,
and, yeah man, I've seen better days