Night follows day.

If I had a penny for every original thought,
Then I would have a few more pence.
If I searched in an old worn chair,
Maybe there?
Maybe this is where originality can be found?
Or on the ground?
Pushed into the dirt like mirrors.
Reflecting the bleak hope,
In the atmosphere.
People these days,
Are like rubbish in the alley ways.
And only a faithful few,
Want to clean them up.
So what to do?
Search for pennies.
Search for pennies my friends.
Search until winged angels swoop down,
And take you from this life.
Unpredictable luck in finding a penny.
Predictable luck in finding a way home.
And don’t groan,
Don’t be afraid.
It’s the only true fact in life anyway.
Night follows day,
And sometimes we dream.
And that seems to be,
A pretty good analogy to end on.