Experiences touch the heart and on it they leave stains
Memories of what has been, of joy and hurt and pains
When we’re depressed then each of them becomes a knife we twist
Cutting through the tender parts where open wounds exist  

When we are down we take the hurt and build it in a fire
And then we add what fuel we have, making it burn higher
What is this fierce inferno?  Depression is its name
 Negative emotion that’s fanned to fuel the flame  

All our life’s past history, the feelings that we’ve had
Though some of them were pleasant, most of them were bad
Yet taking all the good ones, we twist and turn and bend
To find a way to make them all seem ugly in the end  

We take each one and bind it, rolling it up tight
And put it in our secret store, hidden out of sight
In our minds, each one of us, has such a secret place
Holding all the fuel we need when sadness grows apace  

For some it is a little glow that smoulders in the dark
Whilst others have a tinder box, awaiting any spark
And so the first flame flickers there, when we are feeling low
And gently blow the red hot coals, to make the embers glow  

Sometimes when we raise a flame, it’s hungry and wants more
We go and find our secret hoard and open up its door
And take therefrom the bundled fuel, and build the monster higher
Until sad embers, fanned up bright, become a raging fire  

And when the fire is all burned out, is quiet and cold and dead
We put those same cold bundles back and store them in our head
They are depression’s eager fuel, and they will burn again
Depression’s hue, Bonfire in Blue, we’ll see again but when?