April has the highest suicide rate

Of any month in this state.

It’s hard to imagine anything being great

After six months bleak as slate.

Then there were the bombs in Boston

Which were so awful I won’t make it rhyme.

But the temperature, a.k.a. the eternal freeze

Has climbed outta the hole: it’s 60 degrees.

Even if the sky is grey

The sun’s gonna shine the next day.

And even if the sky is grey

It’s warm and mystic anyway.

The rain’s not piss from icy Titans.

Now it’s promises and mystery, soothing, inviting.

Don’t let exhaustion make you an April fool

But also that’s a puddle, man, not a pool.

The grass gets greener, the trees get fuller

If it isn’t Opposite Day things won’t get any duller.

Yeah, finals are coming, but how much can they suck

When everything’s reborn, and pretty as f—.

I put this in rhyme for a sense of magic!

To tickle your fancy, to combat the tragic.

The secret of life is no one makes it out alive

And when we take it too seriously, well, we die.

I’m not playing Osho, hell, not even Carnac

Just a kid with words and a cold Sarnac

Who could look out his window for hours and hours

And remember the seeds have been planted for May flowers.