To be Lazy is a dream

Waking up feels mean.

My cloud of Imagination

Is turned to dust 

Waking up in the morn' 

And laying on a bed of thorns

I am rusting like the Tinman of Oz.

And the buzzing won't stop 

As if breaking my head wasn't enough.

Awake! Awake! The birds scream

This is not Cinderella's dream

But I must do as they say

For until May

I wake at 6:45 sharp 

Turning my Gold into dust and making the intelligence squad go bust.