A smile is rare among the crowd
even the sky has a gloomy shroud
colorful flowers replaced with concrete gray
more worship and less pray
It's becoming hard to be human
when everybody is concerned with their toman
loving yourself has become secondary
people's kindness is now nary
the world needs optimistic fools
seeing the good where none is left
chasing happiness in the gloomy seas of depression
I might become a fool
if somebody joins me along the way
and maybe these gray clouds will pour away
and the flowers might bloom again