It's Morning
Don't you spend, my friend, each morning
Mourning, mourning over th' morning
When th' sun doesn't rise, the birds don't sing,
The grass isn't green, the trees don't breathe,
The kids don't smile, their parents seethe,
In th' dooming gloom for light groping?
Don't you spend, my friend, each morning
Mourning, mourning over th' morning
When doors and windows aren't opening
To silting dust that th' gaunt sky grasps,
To veiled land that in foul air gasps,
In a blind craze for coins craving?
Don't you spend, my friend, each morning
Mourning, mourning over th' morning
When leaders rife with riches reeling
On drunken feet feel don't suffice
Meals and mistresses for their office
With your money they're pocketing?
Don't you spend, my friend, each morning
Mourning, mourning over th' morning
When your parents and wife are dying,
Your daughters sleeping with sore moans
To help you with th' life-long bank loans
For th' titleless flat you're now owning?
No, you don't, my friend. It's morning
That's mourning. It's morning mourning.
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