Along life’s bumpy dirt-covered road there’s an animal you ought to know well, he’s wrought with terror, and born from thunder, during the howling winds of hell. His eyes have a ruby red glow, his coat is slick and fine. He’s called the black hound of depression, or so some people say, and no amount of medication can scare the black hound away. It would mean your demise, so please people be wise, do not allow the black hound inside your mind. On some windy night you’ll awake with a fright and onto the city bridge you’ll find.
Leaping to your death, you think, is the only escape to keep the hell-hound at bay. Downward you’ll plunge into the great abyss, giving the water below a sapphire kiss.
Your mind’s videotape spins it’s last reel, the final frame will show the black dog, still nipping at your heels. ~ Poet Stoker
The Red Edge Of Sunrise 