I looked around me,
and what did I see?
Storms of constant, painful suffering.
Not only my soul,
Had taken its toile,
But others too, found life bitter and dull.
We were more than just stressed;
They said we were depressed.
All of our feelings could not be suppressed.
What was the diagnosis?
A stage of psychosis?
Our eyes say dark shadows, black clouds and dead roses.
Too full were our ears,
With negative words we'd hear;
Our despair, hurt and guilt flowing out in our tears.
We'd been beaten and scourged,
Physically and with words;
Pecked, torn, ripped, stripped, attacked by black birds.
What was life?
Was it worth the strife?
It took all of our strength to put down that knife.
We had reached the last straw;
On our hands and knees we'd crawl,
Through the thick mud, to our hole to withdraw.
Couldn't snap out of it,
Or climb out of the pit,
Yet we tried again to pick it apart bit by bit.
Now the war still goes on,
And we'll fight till we're gone,
For night's almost over and here comes the dawn.