Each day when I look in the mirror,
I see sorrow that no one else sees.
A burial shroud of depression
has gathered its grip about me.
I wish I could live without shadows
and walk where the others have been.
I'd tell everyone that I'd meet there
how I've left a life that's never been.
But this doom somehow follows through thick and thin.
I've tried hard to leave it behind.
So I guess I'll just be what I'm meant to be
and get used to a life not desired.
It brings sadness to turn from the sunshine
and christen the funeral pyre,
but the burial shroud of depression
wraps me tight and holds to the fire.