It’s a fact of modern life!
We’re all popping Prozac,
Overdoing the Dothiepin and indulging in depression.

“You fogies never had stress or anxiety.”

But we? We must decide upon life or death
And make fate our own.

The oxygen chore is tiring,
I may just have to Plath myself.
Though Woolf’s Ouse is a flow way and
Hemingway’s gun is a blast.
Though the Prozac may pop me at last.

It’s a quite breakdown we have
My friends and I.
We sit in front of our mirrors and say,
“It’s time to sleep my friend”
And we pop Dothiepin yet again.

“A modern ailment we suffer from Ma and Pa”.
You wouldn’t know,
Your only had the washing and dough.
To fret about.

But me, my friends and I.
We worry about how we will die.
“My job will kill me, if my lifestyle doesn’t”.

It’s a funny world this depression of mine.
It befriends me and steals my mirth
For that I take an anti-depressant,
Which like a morning after makes me feel worse.

Shit begets shit and for that we take it to.
It’s a catch-22:
This depression of ours,
You try to live but that kills you to.

My depression depresses me and makes me sad.
For that I take Prozac,
Which will eventually make me mad.