To be an artist, or a recluse,
To use Depression as a muse,
To sigh, to bask in skies of grey,
Be drenched in its tears every day,
Hoping one day they will drown you.
Let go, drown, creature of water!
Someone threw a net and he caught her,
Saving her life, or so he thought,
Happiness, joy, together they sought.
And all her life it eluded her.
Shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm
Dreaming of places loving and warm
Green grass, white fence, a garden gnome
It could be a house that you’d call a home
For now, it’s only fantasy.
Early morning play us a song
One with which we can sing along
Play it so loud it drowns out the rain
Hope it does the same to the pain;
Someday we’ll forget all about it.
So much you think you know, you don’t
They say they’ll be fine, but they won’t
Look closer, they drink in sorrow
Hoping to not see tomorrow.
Listen to their song of the swans.