Keely's Glosa

Thursday Unholy

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,

And their ways are fill’d with thorns;

It is eternal winter there.

—“Holy Thursday” from Songs of Experience, William Blake

They hide amongst us everywhere

These people always unsatisfied

Never happy, forever sad

Yet you wouldn’t know to see them

They live behind a smiling mask

And pretend they’re feeling fine

But inside is complete turmoil

And bitterness, and tragedy

They compare their lives to mine

And their sun does never shine

They are modern beggars

Asking for support, not money

But there’s nothing to do

And nothing to say

And they simply don’t progress

They just take what we can share

And mope about with sad hearts

Feeling like they’re all alone

They assume that we don’t care

And their fields are bleak and bare

There is no one here but them

Each of them are on their own

Lonely and distraught at life

Can’t abide the rules

Or themselves, or one another

Caught up in each other’s horns

They fight until they’re so entangled

And any struggle makes it worse

One sits, one looks, one sees, one mourns

And their ways are fill’d with thorns

There is no hope for them to see

There is no reason to go on

They falsely smile but turn away

They leech our happiness, gaining nothing

Therefore, so dissatisfied

They retreat back into their lair

Sink into the endless gloom

Their own grey, bleak little world

When the sun shines, it’s very rare

It is eternal winter there.