Parlour

The garden of friends I'd grown fond of Was destroyed by drought then drowning of my Temptation for hesitation and doubt Driven by the light of a lie of a normal life But each day congregating like leaves Off a rotten tree A dark bark path of wasting time away I attend the funeral of the girl in the mirror Crying 'cus it's what you're supposed to do Mourning only that it didn't come sooner Mourning that morning's here A sorry state of catch 22 Cycling sadness back and forth like a party game All I'd like to do is make you feel a little less strained I realise my crime with time was Letting it fester and pester I attend the funeral of the girl in the mirror Crying 'cus it's what you're supposed to do Mourning only that it didn't come sooner Mourning that morning's here When each day is a replica of the last What's the point in calling it Something else