These mornings are too painful, when even outside the weather is gray. And besides, inside too, there are days without, days with. It will be without, I bet you. There is my poop that has badly finished. I'm going to have to rub for an hour and a half. And then I get bored, it doesn't fix anything. And as they say, the misfortune of one, each his own ***, yes I understood. Help me, I feel so lonely. Let me, it's my right to be depressed in my armchair. Another good ***ty day. Like a day of confinement. Like a birthday day, past the 35-year mark. Frankly, what's the point? A bit like me, everyone doesn't care. When I'm not there anymore, will they be sad? Fill my glass to the brim, because it is half empty. Pessimist, not at all. Help me, I feel so lonely. Let me, it's my right to be depressed in my armchair. Help me, I feel so lonely. There is hope of a place, that tomorrow will be better. But I'm tired of being depressed. And it depresses me to be tired of it. But what's the point of waking up? I prefer to sleep all day, if it's to live this nightmare. But why do I have more trouble than the others? While the others have no problem. Besides, isn't it all their fault? Enough selfishness, enough obscene happiness. Help me, I feel so lonely. Let me, it's my right to be depressed in my armchair. There is hope of a place, that tomorrow will be better. But...