Those asylum gates couldn’t keep me in,
Iron can’t contain madness,
And so I skip gayly down that cobbled road,
With no destination in my cracked minds eye,
Eccentricity taken to the wilderness,

I’m a headcase,
A lunatic,

My companions are this top hat and disembodied voices,
Singing like glamour in my ears,
Poppies and amber and brimstone in tongues,
I giggle lavishly at the sound,
Counting the stars orbiting my skull,

I’m a headcase,
A maniac,

I keep jaunting,
Crooked foot after crooked foot,
Being entirely my mad self,
A one man travelling circus,
Until those white-coats catch me.

Comments
  1. What a powerful point of view…”iron cannot contain madness” Brilliant!

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