He feels a flood coming on
In the ozone scented haze.
You always can sense a coming storm
In the syrup daze.
Why does it cling to him?
Sticky, thick, and cloudy.
Washing the syrup in filthy rain;
Can't rid of the taste.
Why does it search for him?
Looking, patiently waiting
Under shelter from the pain.
It pours down even harder.
He is so disgraced.
Can't hide from the taste.
He feels a coming daze
In the coming days.
Syrup daze of monsoon strength;
It is pointless to debate.
Flood him again--
Relentless ways of his syrup daze.