The Ability to be Late Again

It’s so hard to be one of those people who’s late all the time
If there was capital punishment for poor punctuality
Then death would surely fit my crime.
I can’t seem to get it together and give myself a break
I’m slower than most sloths during the minutes after I wake.
I’ve tried setting the alarm earlier,
prepare the night before
But I just can’t kick my feet from that bed
It’s waking at my own pace I adore.
I forget incentives for getting up,
To be honest I just don’t want my toes on that cold floor!
I wanna take it easy and sleep in,
But there’s far too much to lose…
I need an intervention, to tackle my addiction
To the button titled ‘snooze’.
The big hand and the little
Seem to move at twice the speed,
When it’s freeze frame I’m wishing for
Five more minutes’ all I need!
Charging down the pavement
As fast as I can step,
brushing past the casual “on-timers”
I just look inept.
An’ I can feel the face of my boss waiting,
sneering at the clock
she’s got her time keeping prosecution ready
for when I’m standing in the dock
“Mr. Ford you are charged as tardy, how do you plead?”
“um… two minutes your honour, let me get my shit together please…”
And it’s not just now I’m rushing,
I’ve been the last one there my whole life,
I can almost hear the arguments already
As I’m sure to nearly jilt any potential future wife
And I’m a cert to be late to my own funeral
I’ll need excuses when I turn up to the afterlife...
I’ll be all disheveled, rushed and out of breath,
worriedly asking
“Is it too late to get into heaven? I’m really sorry, I kinda’ got held up with my death”