I have made it through,
through the week and through Friday,
to a place of rest.
Is it really rest?
The thing pile up like mountains,
demanding I climb.
My music suffers,
the things to do and get done,
that’s no way for fun.
I have a offer,
a new job that looks quite good,
and wonder should I.
Choices are a plague,
on decisions and choosing,
but it’s good to try.
The fish is cooking,
more warming up with some chips,
not like I caught it.
