Things spinning around too fast
Musical sounds of trumpets die
A blank noise from a broken radio
Fill the air, clouded with gray dust
Signs pointing in all different directions
Each with its own imperfections—
A wad of pink gum, peeled off yellow paint—
Shadows grow larger and larger,
The sun flies onward.
An old gas station lingers
Out on the middle of the desert
Brown, earthly sand lifted up
By the hot Death Valley wind.
Broken TVs, empty aisles of food
Dirty bathrooms and a worn out OPEN
Is all that's left of the King's reign.
Depression has sunk in
And evicted the once employed and happy
Killed most life out on the field
Depression reaches farther with—
Its greedy, searching claws.
From this gas station in desert,
To meadows of dying grass.
Flowers not plucked in summertime
Oranges, grapes, strawberries
Remain on their mother earth, fading fast
Buckets of water vastly abandoned
Groves of juicy fruits, once at universal glory
Now become evanescent, being not colorfast.
Depression has awakened.
Divided the rich and the weak,
Left homes in domestic emptiness…
Depression has won.