Dealing with the Doldrums.

What a year of darkened days

Was the sentiment 'round the bar

Glasses of ale and shots of scotch

Poured like the never ending rain

Men sat like carved wood

Turned lacquered like the stools they sat on

'till the tap ran dry

and every lonely bitter person stood

Marched into the miserable streets

in the drab clothes of middle class rebellion

And shouted together in a low murmur

"We are tired of an ordinary life"

So they burned down those dark places

Where they once dreamed of brighter lives

They marched into the country side

And planted the seeds of potentiality

They boarded ships made for going far

and drank the water of strange lands

And every one of those sorry sods

cried, "What the hell?"

For gone were the dark taverns

and now were the bright futures

But all their sober triumph

could not rid them of those drab clothes

That hung around their shoulders

and clung to everything they did

So after years of fun in the sun

and months of ease in the breeze

They came back to those burned pubs

and built them back up

And when the brew began to flow

They look one another straight in the eye

Said with sneer, "Life isn't all the great"

And drained their lives away

It's a sad story to tell

and hell, a sad one to hear

But it acts as a lesson to the wee sprites

Who look to tomorrow for salvation

The next day on the calendar doesn't define a lad or lassie

Nor does the great deeds they might achieve

But their happiness and their mirth

They are the makings of a truly heroic individuals

So be a hero or another working class stiff

Your worth is measured in your smile.