Ballades

Tackle Each Strife

You know quite well there are minds that suffer;
Those minds, it is trowed, are anxious and sad.
But why d’you judge, mock those minds at supper?
Ween I what you do is shameless and bad.
Let me tell you what transpired once, dear lad:
A few years ago, I’d willed to take my life;
for days seemed like years, those years made me mad.
Struggle hard the mantra then and tackle each strife.

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Everything changes, don’t forget that ever.
Days become nights and nights turn into days rad.
Many noons you’re high, some noons down with fever.
And some nights you’re angry, many nights perhaps glad.
Issues that affect the mind can be treated, my lad.
So you’d better not mock and slip off that knife.
The knife may then injure you, making you go mad.
Struggle hard the mantra then, tackle each strife.

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You say you’re smart, your deeds you’re a bodger.
I’d rather help lost minds than to this point add;
For you feign attention, act like a bumbler.
I’m not sure what to say, my mind has gone mad.
What for do I, you know, call you my lad?
For you’re what I have after the death of my wife.
If she were alive, she’d lose the joy she’d had.
Struggle hard the mantra then, tackle each strife.

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Remember and repeat: Never mock the sick and mad.
For today you’re fine, but none knows the afterlife.
Pray for the diseased, life ours may turn bad.
Struggle hard the mantra then and tackle each strife.

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