Gray Skies

So I asked him how he felt today:
high and drunk, no surprise.
And I wondered, why take the feeling away?
Partying all night, sleeping all day.
Broken, maybe, with stifled cries.
Then I asked him how he felt today:
down and sober, full of lies.
It was then, I knew, he would pay.
So I wondered, why take the feeling away?
Dealing with the devil I so despise,
just so he could soar away?
Again I asked how he felt today:
he raged and screamed about his skies,
always, he said, always gray.
So I asked, why take the feeling away?
To be numb, to be happy, he surmised,
yet as I watched, he only decayed.
And when I asked how he felt today,
still I wondered, why take the feeling away?