Anxiety (October, 1920)

Why is life so tragic; why, why, why, why -

so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss.

I feel down; I feel giddy; why, why, why, why -

I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.

But why do I feel this: Now that I say it I don't feel it.

Now that I say it I don't feel it.

The fire burns; we are going to hear the Beggar's Opera.

Only it lies all about me; why, why, why, why -

I can't keep my eyes shut... why, why, why, why -

And with it all how happy I am — if it weren't for my feeling

that it's a strip of pavement over an abyss.

Why, why, why.