Robert Smith’s Lockdown Diary

I don’t know if Monday’s blue.
It could be Tuesday. Wednesday, too.
Or Friday, I don’t have a clue.
But Thursday’s when I clap.

Monday, I don’t want to blame.
Tuesday, Wednesday not defame.
Nor Friday – every day’s the same,
But Thursday’s when I clap.

The weekend’s scrapped.
No Saturday, Sunday. It’s left a gap.
Thursdays, I never cease to clap.

I don’t know if Monday’s black.
A weekly schedule’s what I lack.
My sense of time’s not coming back,
But Thursday’s when I clap.

Chronologies I disavow.
Tuesday’s Wednesday, I don’t know how.
Friday’s just like Monday now.
But Thursday’s when I clap.

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