Fragment dust floating around in morning air,
monkeys in people's heads tossing their feelings around.
All shall soon go back to being just what they are,
the fragments of dust shall all that be left, in the streets and the air.

All the people wake up to their morning blues,
ready to go back to hanging around the remains of yesterdays.
Some magically wish for the seconds to please not go,
but time shall not keep hanging around,
only the dust remains, floating around fragmented pasts.