Sleep eight hours,
Work eight hours,
Play eight hours,
Yet it never
Unfolds that way.
So the thoughts
Blur in my mind,
And wasted are
My weeks and days.

I’m not a fan of sunshine
But I want to see the beach.
Perhaps with seagulls
As the only occupants
And the icy sea spray
Covering our booted feet.

When the world’s too bright,
I’ll come to you dear.
You’ve got the darkness
I’ve been looking for.
Or do I have it backwards?