I’m sick of the sads,
The come and go blues,
Tired of depression,
It’s becoming old news.
I’ve got the melancholy
Lodged deep in my bones.
It follows me everywhere,
So I hide all alone.
I’m exhausted of existence
That demands my great strength.
I’m out of ignition
And my apathy stretches at length.
This pattern starts at the beginning of October.
It stays through the winter,
I am like the weather,
Cold, gray, and bitter.
I’m sick of the sads,
These come and go blues,
The yearly cycle of moods,
I keep falling for the ruse.
I am sick of the sads,
Tired of depression,
Clinging to my sanity
Through its brutal oppression.
I am sick of the sads
That make it difficult to respire.
I pray for the end,
Lest my body simply expire.
The come and go blues
Have ruined my desire
For anything else.
I am consumed by my internal Hell’s fire.
I am sick of the sads,
These come and go blues.
By the time spring arrives,
I’ll be battered and bruised.
I’m sick of the sads.
Someone liberate me.
Send help on high horses,
Or sad is all I will be.