In the mood, for love, no, not I,
but heartbroken and filled with endless sighs,
and in the mood to shout and scream and sigh,
and rage at the world that passes me by,
and in the mood to rage at God,
because I think he does not try,
does not try hard enough to help humanity,
and well, that is his job is it not,
whichever God you believe in,
yes, she or he is never in when you want him mostly,
or he does not listen, but I, I,
in my drunken state I will not care,
and if I, if I rant and rage at the sky,
I would not be surprised if he never answered with words,
and as thunder echoed all around,
he threw lightning bolts at me from the sky,
but anyway, I am in the mood,
to cast aspersions at those who pass by,
as I, in a drunken stupor, utter rubbish from my mouth,
because life has gone rather south,
and it is far from where I would like it to be,
but sadly, it is the reality,
and no, I am definitely not in the mood for love,
no, not I, but I am only in the mood to rant,
and shout and be rude at the sky,
because life for me is a cruel as can be,
and eros, I curse your trickery, and I curse your devilry,
that has never done any good for me.
In this life
In this life,
oh, what strife,
in this life,
strife that cuts through you like a knife,
strife that makes you want to shout and cry,
and sigh,
and rant and rave,
until all your tears you have cried,
after watching years of your life flash so quickly by,
yes, oh, what strife,
that casts such a shadow over the heart and the mind,
strife that is not so easy to cast aside,
strife that eats at you almost every day of your life,
strife that you cannot fathom a way away from,
and whenever you try,
it overwhelms you,
and sadly, it drives so many people to suicide,
and why,
why should it be,
why should it be, this misery?
I wish I knew,
but it is not as simple as I wish it would be,
and this strife it is the anathema of me,
and I wish it would leave me be,
yes, I wish it would leave me be,
but it is incessant in its bombacity,
and it haunts society,
and we are far too often like zombies,
almost lifeless,
and passing through life,
with barely any happy memories to remember at all,
and it seems a terrible shame to me,
this strife, this monstrosity,
and the way we live,
no, it is not living really, not living at all,
and it is terrible, absolutely terrible,
because shouldn't life be more meaningful?
Shouldn't life be more meaningful after all,
and after all what good is strife,
if you have no quality of life,
no, it is no good at all,
and the effort wasted to get nowhere really,
and the suffering so many people have to go through,
it is apocryphal, apocryphal.
In this life
In this life,
oh, what strife,
in this life,
strife that cuts through you like a knife,
strife that makes you want to shout and cry,
and sigh,
and rant and rave,
until all your tears you have cried,
after watching years of your life flash so quickly by,
yes, oh, what strife,
that casts such a shadow over the heart and the mind,
strife that is not so easy to cast aside,
strife that eats at you almost every day of your life,
strife that you cannot fathom a way away from,
and whenever you try,
it overwhelms you,
and sadly, it drives so many people to suicide,
and why,
why should it be,
why should it be, this misery?
I wish I knew,
but it is not as simple as I wish it would be,
and this strife it is the anathema of me,
and I wish it would leave me be,
yes, I wish it would leave me be,
but it is incessant in its bombacity,
and it haunts society,
and we are far too often like zombies, almost lifeless,
and passing through life,
with barely any happy memories to remember at all,
and it seems a terrible shame to me,
this strife, this monstrosity,
and the way we live,
no, it is not living really, not living at all,
and it is terrible, absolutely terrible,
because shouldn't life be more meaningful after all,
and after all what good is strife,
if you have no quality of life, no, it is no good at all,
and the effort wasted to get nowhere really,
and the suffering so many people have to go through,
it is apocryphal, apocryphal.
