Depression is an Asshole

asking how to make you smile's like
asking clouds how to make them rain
they do not know, they could not care,
and frankly there's no way but waiting
Boil a thousand pots of water
point my hairdryer at a lake
and sit there till my arms are sore
that's how much difference I can make
Had I the time, had I the heart
to plant a hundred trees a day
to make our weather wet and cool
There's still low odds that'd they'd take root;
the cycle self-perpetuates
Where we live is mostly arid
Makes my plans look pretty dumb
Not like you fail to blame the climate
But I'm still feeling black of thumb
I thought that I was being clever
all that time digging out a basin
lining it with clay and stone
so we'd drink and swim in the water
even when the rain won't come
But that damn thing will never fill
Without more rain than twice what's gone
When all feels equally redundant
I understand the call to drum
To dance, to roll, to shake the sky
Even with science on my side
I grasp the currents, and the tides,
But feeling helpless leaves me numbly
hungry
for a hurricane,
and weeks of blinding dripping fog.