Nothing Depressing

Walls born of cement,
Rusting clay and aged steel—
Shining still, while you repent
Against your own aged vow to feel.

I hang close and you just as near,
Quiet as the timeless stone,
Baring the burden each borne must bear:
Carried like prisoners in the minds that we own.

But that which keeps us dumb,
Lies far away from our deadened sounds;
It croaks cruelly, a voice crowned with sweat, waiting for us to succumb,
Then out comes its sultry tale, driving us to the mound.

For when we hear its terrible name, John brings our minds to halt,
‘Cause every tale of him that’s heard turns glittery hearts into Galt.