Man all dressed in suit and tie calls his wife.
No, he won't be coming home tonight.
Dishonest are his words that he bets on.
Immoral writing verse still sweeps the weekend.

We'll chase the day.
But, not now.

Empty pews of blue and gold face my eyes.

They mourn the loss of sunshine to winter's white.
People in the streets return to their holes.
They fear the ghost of summer and what it beholds.

We'll chase the day.
But, not now.