Write it down, and maybe it will help
And you write it down, and it helps
Or not
Or the drinking helps
Or the loneliness helps
Or the sleeping helps
Or some such thing
Some such harmless therapy,
But what if none of these remedies help?

What has been done to turn your head to the wall?
Your eyes are so pretty, and the wasteland of your smile
Makes me so guilty that I cannot help
The rivers running down your arms
Look horrible and sick
And you look sick
And you need some medicine
And I have nothing left

So please, my dear, let me lie down by your side
And be a part of the scenery of your melancholy