When May comes to stay, April showers flood my mind and my skies are winter gray. Spring will not revive me any, nor will longer days. You’ll leave me high and hung out to dry, like always, when May comes to stay.
When May comes to visit, it locks me in my bedroom and starves me of attention. It steals my money and cloaks me in resentment. It only tells me lies like you don’t love me, and that you would if you were willing. Like autumn, I fall for it every time when May comes to visit.
Like autumn, I fall for you every time you find it convenient to visit…
SLOAN HAMPTON 
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