The day is fine, the sun is out,

And there’s nothing whatever to grumble about.

But then there are days you want to get out of your skin

And be in any other place than the place you’re in.

Those are the touchy, prickly, I-hate-everybody days

When you wish that everyone would just go their separate ways

And leave you be

To sit and sulk in your own misery.

It’s nothing you can put a finger on—

It’s just that the whole day feels wrong.

Nothing pleases, your book is boring and TV’s crap

Everyone around you feels the snap

Of your bad moods and muttering—

If someone gets in your way, uttering

All the things you should be happy about

I say shut them up, go away; you need to pout

It’s a day when there’s no one’s face you like—

So just tell them all to take a hike.