Changes come the New Year,
As if one day could differ from the rest,
To which spirits adhere.
Not even the day, but the hour it ends,
A countdown to mark it,
So much is forgotten, just shed away,
That the last year was so fucking tragic.
Though, I suppose there's something to be said,
For communal focus,
Surely, if change will ever act'lly come,
That could be the locus,
There, I've said it again,
Like the child who asks for treats all the time,
I'm hoping to wear down your complacence.