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.