I get a bit gloomy when it's gloomy.
Joy Division sounded like Manchester: cold, sparse and, at times, bleak.
People ask me to smile for the camera, but somehow it always comes out gloomy.
New Yorkers are stuck in a gloomy mucilage of mutual commiseration.
The hill pines were sighing, O'ercast and chill was the day; A mist in the valley lying Blotted the pleasant May.
In '74 it was really a very gloomy atmosphere, I would say, to put it mildly.
It's a brooding melancholy that haunts me.
A lot of people say I wouldn't have a down day, but you look at the music and there's real melancholy.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind in never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
I'm often in Venice in November and December, when it's foggy and wintry, and the decorations in the shops and the lights in the churches make the place feel both Christmassy and melancholic.
Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?
