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Depression Blues
Loudon Wainwright III
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Lightning sings the blues, the Catholic goes to his confession
Now tell me what you plan to do about all of your depression
Oh, you tried old Sigmund's talking cure, you experienced its power
But that kind of talk ain't cheap, you know, at one-eighty an hour
You inhibited the re-uptake of all your serotonin
You were whistling, washing windows until you started moaning
Then you biked up to the swimming hole to let the water cure you
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But the current at the bottom, it began to pull and lure you
Blind Lemon sings the blues, the Jew does his wailing session
So tell me what you plan to do about all of that depression
Will you suck it up and ride it out, or re-read some old fan letter
Or head to the nearest bar room to stay drunk 'til it gets better
Sleep knits up the raveled sleeves, so go to bed and stay there
But before you get in, kneel down on that killing floor and pray there
Maybe you can do a deal with your old buddy Satan
And sell that soul that's no damn good, so why the hell you waiting?
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Ah, the Muslim bows to Mecca five times, now let that be a lesson
Everybody's bowing and scraping just to answer that big question
Sleepy John sings the blues, a comic can do an impression
Of someone who might seem like he don't suffer much from depression
Yeah, get that audience to loving you
Boy, be a clown and get 'em going
You'll have 'em right there in your sweaty
Palm almost before you are knowing it
Let it all out up there on stage, yeah, all the world just is one
And it's fifteen minutes or fifty years, every fool gets his run
After the show, when they all go home, you're left with your problem
It's the depression blues, that's what you
Got, boy, and that's one big bad ass goblin
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