Sometime last week,
I fell under a cloud—
Grey and cold,
And I can’t shake it.
Wherever I go, it follows me:
From the couch to the door,
And the bus stop into town—
A cold and empty rain.
At the comedy club,
I couldn’t laugh;
Got called a “miserable bastard,”
Told them to fuck off.
At the football,
Couldn’t sing the songs—
Left early;
Didn’t even get a pie.
Out in the streets,
Walking with my tunes on,
The beat, the life, drifted past me:
Just connections I couldn’t feel.
Someone told me,
“Put a smile on it, eh?”
I told them,
“Get yourself to fuck.”
My unwanted companion—
Grey and cold as death;
Inevitable, they say,
But we aren’t dead yet.
We’re only human, flesh and blood;
We may fall, but we rise up.
This grey can’t last forever,
And I know it won’t.
One day, I’m going to kick this cloud
And take a walk in the sunshine,
With music, love, and laughter.
And until then,
I will persevere.
(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon
