It's Thursday night and I'm weary.
It's Thursday night and I'm blue.
And I'm looking at snow with eyes bleary,
And I should snap out, but it's true.
It's cold but I'm not hurrying
No wish to run, I just walk.
If somebody banters, I've quit parrying.
All humour is lost, please just gentle talk.
It isn't as sweet as it was, or will be
Not broken down, I'm just drained
And I know my laughter will soar again free
But each step just now feels... pained.
The ice underfoot crunches and glistens.
Slow steps work fine, lest I slip.
And while finding there's someone who listens...
I've no more words to say.
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