Depression

Is that ok to live with all the same conclusions Or is it like worn clothes when you do not Care what to wear in your goddamn seclusion And like the old familiar recipies you’ve got You see no change, its all the same old stories Most likely, you can’t notice any changes For otherwise it goes to different category You leave no chance for any sudden rearrangements But there's a vague unease brewing inside You’re getting out of use, like old device This might be called depression in most trite Of understandings, but you never think it twice.