september never seemed so sweet
the broken air
the colored leaves.

days upon days upon days
the couches spend the nights
on my back.

mine eyes to the ceilings
that don't belong to me
my feet to the floor
on which i should be asleep

"to the tower,
to the tower,"
i'd scream.

follow the recipe that will make you happy.
make sure you spend the right time.
nothing secure will turn into smiles.
you'll sadly turn time into waste.

each day i hope to greet the sun,
a little bit poorer
a little bit hungrier
a little bit quieter in my mouth
a little bit louder in my heart.

goodbye chicken little,
the sky is not falling.

i put down my axe
and pick up my shovel.

thank you september for making a change,
thank you old french man for setting the stage.