I do not want to die on a Monday with rain raging down on my pain
my mind drifting back through a lather of dreams & fear grabbing hold of my name.

I do not want to die on a Tuesday it’s the least of my favourite days
like the start of New Year there’s little to cheer unless I change my ways.

I do not want to die on a Wednesday in sight of the weekend fair
too much to remember & much more to do – not easy to let go there.

I do not want to die on a Thursday for it’s my favourite day of the week
the cheque in the door the wine on the floor – do not want to go anymore.

I do not want to die on a Friday because my father did
fallen, alone, by a railway line just as I started to live.

I do not want to die on a Saturday with people rushing around
voices that laugh in the sun in the park & footballers pounding the ground.

Let me drift off on a Sunday when my summers have no more to give & children play by
the Great Lucan weir unaware that I ever had lived.