O, set Doubt aside the sick/
Let him rot amongst them/
Let the scent of the two/
Fill our town's humble roads/

O, lay Anxiety down/
Upon a bed of needles/
Let it puncture and maim/
Such a clever crook/

And yet, throw Depression/
Into the river, let him be taken/
Down to the fiery, boiling/
Pots and baths of the valley/

O! These three spiteful villains/
Shall never again trouble the minds/
And hearts of so innocent a crop/
As we, The Ones Who Think/

Beyond every poet, beyond every artist/
Lies the troubled mind that grieves/
For everything that has yet to happen/
Let all doubts, worries, and preoccupations/
Blow away with the stale winds of The Negative/

All is forgiven, and All will be well/
Time is all it takes.