The land left right of Monday told
Me once of time's asymmetry,
How matter matters more as cold
Sings liquid crystal to a tree.
And so it sang its mournful tune
Of all its tragic future past,
Displayed its properties at noon,
That being first will make it last.
And out of all the time it's rent
From just this side of Sunday soon
Will see its profit will be sent
To benefit the hungry moon.
The lunatic has now declared
To all its feathered plan, so bold --
That broken lives will soon be paired
With wealth as we dig bottled gold.