And now we enter that period
Of the horrible, horrible blackness
The wintertime again
Thoughts turning inward and losing signal
Broken and unloved
All over and over again
When the sun shines
I do feel the warmth on my hands and face
But it is cloudy today – tomorrow
So ashamed of all I have built
And all I have aspired to be
Lying in ruins created by those demons
And pondering options
Of the face-saving exits
However transparent or unholy
Happiness, fulfillment, satisfaction
Cannot ever be dependent
Upon other or others
We have to fill our own shoes
Somewhere karma became a radical new philosophy
For yuppies and television producers
Laid bare with guts exposed like
Chipper the happy chipmunk
Dead in the road for all the children to poke at
Maybe happy is not a place to be after all
But the hell of atheists and artists
That we sold our souls to become
