Pull me over and tell me how it feels,
Facing your weekly horrors sprayed over a 5 day reel,
As you stroke into midnight and push release,
Fun Fridays sometimes are quite the sleaze.
Unplug your earphones, plug in your charger,
Make it a medium fries but the coke should be larger,
“What’s in the box?” Or “Luke I’m your father”,
Let the vibe decide how to take the night further.
Synchronize and decentralize, every corner of your mind,
Rewind and unwind till you unbind and run fine,
All these green lines and neon signs,
They fade away, till they eventually combine.
Call In the Endorphins, summon the seretonin,
Release the dopamine and feast on oxycotin,
In this search for your mind there’s no navigation,
But there are signs and a general direction.
Signs, that segregate the right from the wrong,
Hit you when you’re on your own,
Just for people to blame it on luck and destiny.
These signs, they keep you safe,
Keep you wishful that there’s a lake,
Where your sorrows go for a dive and your heart breathes into life,
A life that breathes exuberance into the meaning of it’s own existence,
A life where feel good just isn’t a phase,
And days end with mischief and begin with misbehave,
Those are the Vanilla soaked Sundays I wish to always crave.
Middle of the Road 
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