Dear Old Dead July

Dear old dead July, now it's August you make me want to die seasonal depressions they're here again they're here all over again. Here, my weather vane spins out of my control my sundial has been turned over year after year, now I no longer want to cry. Dear old dead July, now it's August you make me want to lie down and die you make me want to weep, weep like a willow longing to sleep. My old house of golden corn is now a shelled-out shell of an acorn. The moon's darkness is bliss I breathe it back into my lungs, a foggy, wet kiss. Dear old dead July, now it's August you make me want to die curl, twirl crisp and crackle into the dust oh, turn back time, turn back August.