Melancholy Funk

When the smoke is misty thick

Enough to cloud nearby walls,

Under Herculean task,

Every human effort falls.

Friend, I say, the time has come

To step, or even just to crawl

Outside into the moving air,

Somewhere not beneath this pall.

An hour gone, form that place

And yet the stench still lingers there,

In my nose and on my clothes,

Clinging foully to my hair.

My old heart shutters and I weep 

For stagnant company I keep.

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