This isn't a song, but a poem: to me, it really describes the "out of control"-ness of my depression and my life in general.

The poem is the first paragraph of "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
the falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Things fall apart, the center cannot hold;
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.