You laugh, and go to picture shows
   And show the world a cheeful face,
While I sit here and count your woes
   And weep salt tears about the place,
You lend and spend and joke laugh,
   Apparently from all care free,
While I, in gloom, on your behalf,
   Chant "Miserere Domine."

I know you know that times are bad,
   And goodness knows you know I know;
For day by day, in phrases sad,
   I urge my pen to tell you so.
We're sunk!  We're bung, howe'er we strive!
   We're shrouded by depression deep!
We're broke!  We're bust!  But, man alive,
   Why don't you weep?  Why don't you weep? 

Although your foolish smiles should turn
   To tears for these sad songs I sing,
Yo do not even show concern
   For my vicarious suffering.
You should be grim, disgruntled, glum,
   Yet, as my keening keener grows,
And doleful threnodies I strum,
   You laugh and go to picture shows.

You laugh and go to picture shows
   Tho' economic doom is near.
Oh, Achile the tears run down my nose,
   Can you squeeze out one bitter tear?
Yet, if you do not feel distress,
   Why seek for what 'twere pain to find?
Laugh, lucky man; for happiness
   Is, after all, a state of mind.

"Den"
Herald, 12 April 1930, p8