I live for expression,
A common cause of depression,
Not saying I have it,
That would be tragic.

But I’ve looked at my father,
And bothered to ask it,
I said, “Do you think we’re depressed?”
He said, “No, we just feel for the casket.”

From that day on,
I’ve stumbled along,
Living life like a dream,
Where yesterday’s clear and tomorrow is gone.

He said to me “Son,
We are the givers,
And we have to be strong,
We feel for the pain and ease it along.”

“We open ourselves to the hurt and the worst,
Coating our shells with words in a verse,
Taking time then to hear, understand?
Being sincere is our role in the plan.”

But I look at him then,
And I think, and I see,
That out from his pen,
He writes so tragically.

And I wonder now often enough,
If the answer he gave was real or a bluff,
If giving’s our role then let it be said,
We carry the toll of depression expressed.