Grasping at half-conscious illusions,

The new year arcs through the post-Christmas crash,

As philosophical ironies regarding love appeared before, 

The most voluptuous scene, 

And whether this love sought others, 

Or only itself to please, 

The difference is not always clear.

As such, the turn of the year has all watching, 

As the time for a fresh start is presided over, 

Only by those too deeply mired in tradition, 

At the realisation point, all are awake,

But half-dreaming that they dream, 

As the lack of hours weighs upon, 

The ensuing and surreal nature of our fears.