What's Going On Poem by Brian Stafford

I woke up from a deep, deep sleep,
at some god forsaken hour;
My head was in a fragile state,
from the shock of being awake;
Even though my eyes were open wide,
I couldn't focus on the here and now;
And the ceiling was about to fly away,
as the room began to spin;

Won't somebody stop this spinning room,
can't someone stop this ceiling spin;

I lay back down to slow the spin,
and slowly begin to drift away;
I was woken by a fresh summer breeze,
gentle blowing through the curtains lace;
And the intense bright summer sunlight,
that was pouring through the gap;
Only we don't have lace curtains,
and it was a grey winter's day;

Won't somebody tell me what's going on,
can't someone tell me what went wrong.