Days can be count in seconds, minutes or hours,
It’s not a decision of ours.
She might see them in the number of meals she ate or the talks she had,
He may build them from moments that made him sad.
Some of my days are worthless consumption of the number of coffees I had,
I count the numbers of calls that made me mad.
Than I make a bad excuse why I didn’t pick up my phone,
In truth I think “Leave me the fuck alone!”.
Some days are good enough to leave my home,
When it comes to that I tell you so.
I can work or study,
But smiling is never my best buddy.
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