I don’t remember what day it is.
And not because of that big gin fizz.
Why bother keeping track? There’s nothing to do
except eat, sleep, swig and view
binged shtik…chick flicks, nix—taboo!

Every day’s the same day, in my purview.
With each day, breakfast I make, then lunch ensues.
I try not to flip my lid and try not to maunder.
Bad dreams are making me blue,
but what am I gonna do?

So, I cannot tell today from yesterday,
much less time frame for tomorrow.
I just can’t tell today from yesterday.
Sun’s set and risen…must be tomorrow.

Looks like it is springtime, but, April or May?
Don’t think it’s yet June, but I can’t really say.
Guess I should wash, because my pit pong grows every stronger.
But it’s just I; the point’s moot,
so why bother to ablute?

No, I do not think that I bathed yesterday;
I might hit the tub tomorrow.
I simply don’t care if my scent’s outré.
Besides, I got no soap…none to borrow.

Every day’s the same day, like the one in “Groundhog.”
Every day’s the same day; my mind’s an unsound fog.
Someday soon I will play The King’s hit song “Hound dog.”