Old Black Dog
The Old Black Dog. Dave Taylor.
It refuses to die, this old black dog.
Matted and lame but on misery he thrives.
Makes existence, seem one, long, slog.
How long `till it curls up and dies.
Even on days, when in line with the shame.
Of feeling downcast, and pitiful.
Just wishing there was other, than my mind to blame.
And soothing words, prove far from helpful.
When malicious whispers, in cold tones say.
“Face the truth, you are UNTERMENSCHEN!!!!”
And dark forces, hold me in sway.
The lone host, of their ill attentions.
The triumph for me is to stay in the fight.
Wait out the dark, and know it won`t stay.
Hold hard for the sun, to illumine my sight.
And cast myself into the fray!!!!
The dog may bark, but it`s lost its bite.
And I can take, it`s toothless grin.
Knowing in the end, all shall be right.
If I don`t allow the black dog in.
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