Sunshine rays on his face
The breeze carries away his stress
But clouds appear in disgrace
His mood will change I guess.
Moodswing-day, black and white,
Shadows dance in the light.
Moodswing-day, voice inside,
Brainwork conquers his night.
They have called him the shepherd of sorrow
The one who doesn’t believe in a brighter tomorrow.
The one that feeds his own depression
The shepherd of regression.
When the widow starts dying
When if it’s branches are drowning
When the child starts crying
At the border of the black pool
Staring into the mirror of his soul
Moodswing-day, black and white,
Shadows dance in the light.
Moodswing-day, voice inside,
Brainwork conquers his night.
But every time (when) he looks into his self
He must admit there is a little light
At the end of this road
There has to be a way out
A sparkle of hope, a shiver
Perhaps it is the grim reaper’s blade?