Our life is like a striped line from A to B,
We live through the never-ending week,
The eternity of quiet dropping water,
That lasts until the exaggerated Friday,
Which like a meteor bursts into our lives with bright-red exploding happiness.

As we mature, grow beards, this jagged path continues,
With areas of thunderstorms which we must slowly overcome
By working through tough slushy dirt.
To reach the places, that like oases in a desert, let us rest from this journey,
Unwanted obstacles, however, block our way,
Towards the freedom of procrastination, laziness, and joy.

From pay to pay.
These indigo events, like chains, do not allow the eagle of the soul set free.
Like wires in a bustling city, they block him from his choice of random impromptu,
The strict schedule the society has built, has crafted over centuries,
Like a city plan is practical,
But is not calming for the roaring eagle soul.

Oh how we wish the eagle would set lose,
From the skyscrapers and city grumbles.
And would fly off into the undiscovered,
And decide freely for itself
Its own Sundays and its holidays.