Cryptic or cryptish?

To get the right answers, you've got to ask the right questions.
This is probably not the right question; but anyways, I ask myself: Why do I write such depressing lyrics?
I write them because it and they make me, um, happy.
They suit my voice.
Also, I was upset when I heard that country music had beat out rhythm and blues for being associated with suicides. Ever since, I've tried do my part.

Here's one now! Called. . .

The Wheel

All of Life's bent to the Wheel
Bound with death and sex appeal
Each one is the other's soul
The Wheel don't ever cease to roll

From your place here down the spokes
Check out all these other folks
Each one has their own desire
All just part of the big tyre

Deep in your guts you can feel those bearings roll
Don't those potholes really take their toll?

You can't fudge or shirk the load
Your turn comes to hit the road
Eternity up to a point
There's the patch you will anoint

The breath of life turns into a death rattle
There's no winning even if this was a battle

Should we then look toward the hub
And give cold Fate our butts to rub
Or out at the circumference
Will it make any difference?

All of life's bent to the Wheel
Bound with death and sex appeal
Each one is the other's soul
The Wheel don't ever cease to roll


©Howard Szafer 1994

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Go With the Flow

Squirm and struggle, splash and moan
Paddle 'til the closing tone
It's no wonder that you shiver
Always swimming in the river

Take a deep breath 'fore you sink
There won't be the time to think
The current carries you like stink
Down, down to the sea

Take your pleasure where you may
It and you will wash away
Before you've had your fill
Soak in life until you wrinkle
Splash away at what you think'll
Make it worth the bill

Clouds of silt, the delta's stench
Must give the soul an awful wrench
The ocean's wrack, the noisome foam
Go hanker for the fragrant loam
You thought would bed your rest

Lost out in the rushing torrent
One might find cold Fate abhorrent
And waking in a helpless dream
Find you cannot swim upstream

Soak in life until you wrinkle
Splash away at what you think'll
Make it worth the bill
Upstream, your legs were long enough
To span this little rill

©Howard Szafer 1995

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