I’ve been writing rubber cheques again no problem really it’s
the thought that counts right? I was looking for solutions but only found new problems they
say all problems are illusions of the mind I say the need for illusions runs deep it’s far better to struggle with illusions
than with reality
according to science a
couple of twisted chromosomes make me a madman but
madmen are alright madmen are trying to fix things what kind of things? tiny things like lives
so stick a little nembutal up my arse blur my
edges numb my nuts sort me out with psycho
quackery help me find a better place
I know where the edge is because I’ve been over that’s how I ended up
here this place is bedlam it’s full of madmen but madness is relative it all depends whose cage you
are in but I see you can you see me? I’m one of those chumps who think too deeply
clever men think clearly but we madmen think deep
I’m being eaten slowly by my thoughts consumed by my feelings I wonder what it means to die do I consider myself alive? sometimes I want to flee
this awful place but the devil I know has a compelling
argument all things
considered I’m better off where I am just where else would a madman go?
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