I’m caught in this trap of a clynical depression
Some call it  disease but I call it an infection

What if you woke up with a cloud above your head?
Your cells are alive but you’re wishing that you’re dead

And you can feel it coming like a train on a track
But your standing on the third rail with no looking back

There’s no Christian Bale to save you, in some high tech masquerade
This is real life, you’re the hero , no such thing as “ foreign aid”


So  you sit down on the track and you take out a book
Just sit and relax , both ways don’t even get a look

Just waiting for the first hit, there is no sliver of hope
“In this corner weighing in at….!”, here comes the rope a dope