There’s this thing that happens in the middle of autumn
Where I just can’t stand myself anymore.

The trees look perfect as they dance in the breeze
But I feel I’m rotten to the core.

I wonder if there’s something I’m missing
As my tongue drags heavy on the floor.

I will stare at the vultures that glide on the air
As they pick at the world’s bleeding sores.

I guess it’s not so bad
To sit here in the shade
And watch the renewal
Of the Universe and its cascade.

The leaves fall all around me and
I’m thumbing through the darkness.
I’m sweating in the chill.
How many angels in the morning frost?

I guess it’s not so bad
To count the bird songs
And wonder if they’re for me,
Or how many more I’ll hear
Before the snow falls.