Consider a bottle of anti-depressants,
Of anti-anxiety, happiness pills,
You pop one at mid-day, then six, then at midnight,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.
They don’t turn the clock back and stop him from hurting,
They don’t stop his mistress enjoying the thrills,
They don’t make you younger or stronger or lovelier,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.
They don’t stop your friends being faithless and fickle,
They don’t stop your boss underrating your skills,
They don’t stop you feeling you’re worthless and dirty,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.
They don’t stop the heartache but stop it from showing,
They don’t cure your nerves but the twitchiness stills,
They don’t stop his cruelty making your heart break,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.
Consider a bottle of anti-depressants,
Of anti-anxiety, happiness pills,
You pop one at mid-day, then six, then at midnight,
They dry all your tears up and hide all your ills.
© Lynne Joyce