• Depression is a graveyard of hope,
    The still ponds overflowing.
    The cold air breaks the silence,
    And I feel at home.
    Fog covers this empty soul,
    While gravestones emerge from Hell.
    The trees seem to reach for me,
    Yet never make it.
    The feeling of walking with the dead
    Makes me realize that I am alone
    In this empty world,
    A world all to my own.