What Genre is this Disease?

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Stephen Mullane

7:02

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In fifty years will they talk about how bad it was or how good it turned out
Is this a sad song with some happy lines or is it the other way around
One where the chorus comes along just before we all resign
I'm still deciphering for the life of me if it's a comedy with some tragic lines
And a melody to set up the joke and the punchline takes us all home
Before we throw up our hands and lose all hope so
Belt it out from your balcony and join the alleyway symphony
Or sing it solo in your shower or set up a virtual happy hour
And harmonize your own orchestra and tell me should I laugh or should I cry
When the credits roll and I die, when I breathe my dying breath
Breathing the proper response to this elegiac song, this movie that moves me
This story that's glory and shame and everything in between
As long as you're going through it, review it, and take two of these
And call me in the mourning to tell me what genre is this disease

Eight billion proud all sing aloud
Through better and worse, no choice, one
Voices sing along

In a hundred years will they talk about how bad it was or how good it all turned out
Is this a happy song with some sorry verses or is it vice versa
Capture all the laughter in the world and hurl it on the scale
Will it outweigh all the tears and is the joy greater than the fear
The price equal to the cost? How many wins make up for one big loss
Does the happiest day of your tale outweigh the Holocaust
If we could sum up all the problems on bumper stickers wouldn't we have answers a little quicker
Still most think they can solve it all by sharing a simple post
And how can so many people you hold dear and hold you back
Live in unrecognized fear, against your views and don't hold back
And what you hold in your core, what's more, is their resistance to the truth
Doesn't it make it difficult to not get red or come down with the blues
Why can't you see eye to eye if all "I"s come from the same blood
And how can what they think be so goddamn dumb
Do they not realize they're sick, that no one here gets a reprieve
Does the affliction still exist if we can't define a genre for the disease

Twenty billion proud all sing aloud
Through better and worse, no choice, one
Voices sing along

In a thousand years will they talk about how good it was or how bad it turned out
Is it a sad song with some happy lines or is it the other way around
Is there an audience and does it matter? Any meaning behind all the chatter
Bits and bits of brain amidst the blood spatter? Without the former, can you even have the latter
And I'm not certain there's a show to go on if no one pulls the curtain
Can't rate the movie if no one views it, can't like the song if no one queues it
And are the blues the exception to the rule
Are they tears of joy, a reaction, a stye in the eye, a coping tool
Is it me or am I just another voice lost in the gravity of time
Which, in our mind seems the place to be but believe me I'm still trying to see
If it's a happy song or a sad sap, a good kid with a bad rap, with some silly lines
In the grand scheme of time, tell me who is to decide
Someone almighty to bless us when we sneeze? Seas of blessed reasons
Yet we still haven't classified what in the hell this disease is

All of it proud, existence sings aloud
Through better and worse, no choice, one
Voices sing along
Now if we could all recall and refrain, we could name it and the song

In ten thousand years will they talk about how good it was or how bad it turned out
In ten thousand years will there be anyone to analyze or even sing aloud
We've all got those unique stories of how life goes for better or for worse
For example, your neighbors bring home baby strollers while you're out there renting a hearse
Plus I know this man who lost his wife and thus lost all his happiness
But now her heart finds time in another beloved sister's chest
So you tell me is it an elegy with a few easy smiles
Or is this a feel-good movie with a few really good group cries
Is the novel too short or does the story seem to drag on too long
One thing's for sure: we were born, we were born to sing this song
Is it a depression or a recession of glad
None of the above? Something you can't name, something you've never even ever had
Can you hear my voice over the noise, and later with choke in your throat
And years in your ears, will it be needed to wipe away any of the tears
Whether joy or sorrow, tomorrow at least you know they're true
Because you'll know the exception and you'll have lived the rule
And maybe by then, weather on your feet or down on your knees
You'll be able to slap a label on it and name the genre of this disease

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