O, set Doubt aside the sick/
Let him rot amongst them/
Let the scent of the two/
Fill our town's humble roads/
O, lay Anxiety down/
Upon a bed of needles/
Let it puncture and maim/
Such a clever crook/
And yet, throw Depression/
Into the river, let him be taken/
Down to the fiery, boiling/
Pots and baths of the valley/
O! These three spiteful villains/
Shall never again trouble the minds/
And hearts of so innocent a crop/
As we, The Ones Who Think/
Beyond every poet, beyond every artist/
Lies the troubled mind that grieves/
For everything that has yet to happen/
Let all doubts, worries, and preoccupations/
Blow away with the stale winds of The Negative/
All is forgiven, and All will be well/
Time is all it takes.
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