Chonny Jash - April's Fool (Official Lyric Video)

A song about "seasonal" depression, and the idea that I might be happy if I'd just stop thinking so much. There is no punchline. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- LYRICS: There’s a recurring gig in Autumn - I suppose you call it Spring - where as the leaves begin their falling and the songbirds begin to sing, you can hang ten and pretend for thirty days, you’re okay. You can spend all December toiling and take a loan from January’s drive, until the February meant for rejoicing will have to pay its debt back by 5:00. They say that it’s seasonal, but they’ve swapped the tags. ...but hey, one out of twelve ain’t bad. So, if July will be frigid and dour, and if August be spent in the rain, I’ll expend ‘leven twelfths of my life on the shelf just to taste the inane. Let September remember pain’s power, and let October and November dread the yule. There’s no month I’d not pay. I’ll spend June, March or May just to be April’s Fool. Each thought will weigh upon my shoulders. Each question, steepen up this hill. And as the years beckon me older, I become easier to kill. And soon enough, I will be crushed under the weight of that on which I ruminate. Is mediocrity a blessing? Did Dunning and Kruger live in peace? And if you pause a sine wave and look closely, can you see the bell curve resound and screech? I’m sure that it’d be quieter if I’d not tried to sing just outside its ring. So, if happiness might cost my brain, sew a pattern of bliss in the scars. I’ll carve ignorance into each vein ‘fore the strained next beat of my rocky heart. If the idiot suffers no pain, let my dunce cap be stylish and cool. There’s no wisdom I’d not cull. Scoop it out and scrape my skull so that I may be April’s Fool. (Let me break the rules.) But Pagliacci could not cheat the game, and the doctor could not talk him down. All the snidest of wiles and the widest of smiles could not hide the idol’s frowns. (Ride the misery-go-round,) So don’t pity the coward behind, (and ‘round, and ‘round,) and don’t mind that he looks of a ghoul. (and ‘round.) He gets one month a year with a semblance of cheer and he’s running out of fuel. So, let fumes run the face of the local disgrace we call April’s Fool.