Friday

I do always rowing intervals, 
but never had anyone who 
reasonably should have been my boat stern. 
Now there are new morning, and the light 
the size of the Finnish people wake up. 
I may dare today 
wholeheartedly to breathe. 
It is up to the sickle that my days 
shorter cut, 
When It blacksmith steed hooves 
secretly shoes. 

You're inside of it fresh oxygen, 
you could wholeheartedly to breathe. 
You live inside of my skull, 
you may want a fresh oxygen or nitrogen 
that meets the balloon. 
Today, I know how it feels to how 
the wind blowing through your head, 
all rational thoughts away from the blow. 
My baby inside me conjure up a smile out of the 
today might be hard I'm walking with a limp. 
Again, by evening this Friday, my memories 
I close my coffin.