March 17

It doesn’t matter if your pot of gold is empty
And if you’re out of luck and out of friends
And if every day seems a mistake
And you can see no changes
But they will come some day
March 17 will rise again and we all know how this story ends
Now we’ll break the rules and no one else is safe
It doesn’t matter if your horseshoe is damn rusty
And if everything is dark and there ain’t no green
Today all those things are such a foolish
We can dance in dublin and wake up in here
April was a month that we can leave behind
And maybe may brought no better tide
In june i was so sad i can’t describe
I guess the same shit came in july
August was a so fucked up month
September i felt so alone
October i wrote depressive songs
November i screamed turn it up!
December santa stood at home
January ain’t no white crow
February i was so doped i thought it would be the end of my world