The suns seems happy and bright
But what if its not
What if it's just told to be that way
It just doesn't know how to be cold
Its so used to being bright
People expect it to be that way
The sun has a purpose
It can't let all of us down
It has to keep shining
For us.

I don’t think depressive thoughts
I think November thoughts
Which string me up in circles
Like old fish-hooks
And which are a beautifully implacable shade of grey,
As fleetingly preoccupied as candyfloss skies
I think November thoughts
Which sometimes bear me gold
But frost with self-centred cynicism
And waltz like raindrops, trying to be romantic
I think November thoughts
Which are tired and wearing thin
Nostalgic for their future.
Not quite December
But too old for June.

My mind could be compared to a waste bin
All that I've thrown there today is you
You garbage