Human clock in with a flicker and diss, Weekend clocks out, doesn’t bother to miss, Sims hold their breath in a disciplined line, Sunday night tightens the spine of benign. Kettle reheats what it never made right, Tea tastes beige, like a form-filled night, Friday’s jacket still warm on the chair, Saturday slipped without leaving a hair. wheels tanked mud from a better mood, M days name already chewed. Say it slow, don’t polish the cut, Weekend folded, corners shut. Just another downer Sunday night, signed off, Weekend boxed with a pandemic cough, Clock locks up, all softness spent, Even time won’t fake m days consent. Just another downer Sunday night, dead air, Craic slid out the back stair, Pints left dents in the lower brain, Fun’s past tense, tomorrow’s rain. Just another downer Sunday night, that’s it, Say it without that dopamine hit. Fiddle circles, won’t sit or land, Town goes quiet, hands in hand. Head ticks loud like a faulty watch, Thoughts keep pace but never botch, M-days hum back in a tired key, Like it knows what’s coming for me. Mirror throws me a cheeky grin, Says “You’ll manage,” clocks me in. Press your ear to the ribs of the night, Hear M day pacing, rehearsing its bite. Just another downer Sunday night, routine, Bag pack seen, conscience clean, Fridge light stares like it knows my face, I nod once, retreat in grace. Just another downer Sunday night, grey by trade, red is paid. River talks slick like it’s oil aid, grey by fade. red not made. Laces argue a family knot, Hope replaced on the dot. Just another downer Sunday night, that’s it, Say it without that dopamine hit. There’s humour in dread if you squint just right, This island jokes at closing time, I borrow the laugh, wear it thin. Count eight, pause, come in late, Sunday night hates a straight-line gate. Just another downer Sunday night, so true, Fiddle cries like it always knew, People patient a practiced few, Teaching the dark why the weekdays flew. Just another downer Sunday night, collar tight, Week ahead sharpening under the light, I curse in a lilt with a Galway bend, Let it drift, don’t defend. Just another downer Sunday night, that’s it, Say it without that dopamine hit. Sleep signs off with a borrowed calm, Morning waits with an open palm. Just another downer Sunday night, no disguise, Weekend over, steady your eyes. Weekend over, ready your eyes.
