It must hurt like hell when you’re just about as depressed as they come
When all that you want to do is get a little art done
Must hurt like hell when you’re flaked out on your bed, unable for anything else
When all that you want is a proper shot at becoming one of the greats
Yeah, you’ve done stuff, maybe even some great stuff
But the blasted depression, that unforgiving bastard won’t seem to lift however hard you try
You show people your art; they’re amazed at the amount of talent you possess
The amount of scope your work allows for
But inside you feel nothing; feel as though it’s all been a complete waste of time
When you do have time to think, you think…
What would my art be like if I didn’t have to look after this ‘black dog’
How good would my scope be then
Or would you lose all of the powers that you’ve managed to hold onto
Sounds like a catch-22
But that just doesn’t seem fair
Does it
Why can’t you have one without the other
Maybe the real masterpiece gets created as soon as you manage to put the ‘black dog’ to sleep
While unleashing the far more timid, far less hostile, far more beautiful beast that is your art
Keep on keeping on
Because you’ve got what it takes, things will turn out alright
Just put all of your might into the art and that masterpiece will come
In time