Blindsided

by Stephen Edwards.

Time's moving like a summer bird, too soon it flies away.
Or not soon enough. Whatever floats your boat.
Ah, you get what I mean.

So it's December, supposedly a time of great cheer and celebration.
Oh and sales, you can't ever forget the crazy Christmas sales.

And here I am thinking how nice it would be to spend Christmas in a place where it actually snows. Somewhere like Scotland or Ireland, where you can take a long drive through beautiful scenery; mountains and hills and sheep grazing on green, green grass.
Alas, a dream is just a dream.

It's funny, it really is. Hilarious even.
Irritating, he called me. Tiring, he said.
Yeah well, I'm trying my best.

But just in case I don't make it, why don't you just run.
Run, just like everybody else.

Because I'm used to it.
No, it doesn't hurt at all.