of the lighthouse from the golden sand;
the poison mist of melancholia rolled in
and though you could sense it coming and feel it
make you shudder, it was unstoppable.
How you feared those voices in your mind
that sickened your soul and made reason blind.
So many times you lost the view
but the sun always burned the mist away.
When your creative spirit had run its course,
that is when the danger signs appeared
from distant thunder to a brutal brainstorm,
but when you saw the foul fog once again
you chose the River Ouse to save you from the pain.