Grips of Depression.
Beneath a dull, greying sky - I lay, and I watch -
You stand there on hard earth
With your outstretched arms,
Beckoning me close,
And within your eyes - resides a coldness,
And I dare say -
Belies a desperation, a vanity that encloses your heart.
Your face is a scarred mass of distrust,
And you're twisted and crippled
Yet, you've lived on -
In an endless parade of insanity.