When it will be sun all around,
we will seek the rain.
And when the clouds will come to surround,
we will cry foul, in vain.
Something that strikes me,
And I wonder if it strikes you,
we have stopped enjoying those precious little wonders,
like the morning dew.
No matter how white the shirt is,
No matter how bright it may shine,
All that will catch attention will be that dark spot of ink,
Which will make people whine.
Life has got strange,
for it is not about the hundred goods,
but that one thing bad.
You keep trying, and you make a mistake or two,
but when only those count,
you do feel sad.
And we are going deeper,
Into this troubled pit,
And before we realize,
We will be laid to rest,
In that sulking bed,
It is astonishing,
But I guess enough said!