A bipolar fever, I sing
To my attendants, no songs
Just my own seasons
Of good and bad moods.
A bipolar frenesy, I sing
To the summer sun,
I own the world, I am
On my own Mount Olympus.
I am truly sorry,
It’s just a bipolar fantasy,
August makes my blood boil,
I will recoil.
Summer went away,
My mania doesn’t stay,
I still sing songs to the sky,
The moon is now answering back.
Listening to me, she talks back
As the seasons get older
And my mind gets colder.
I dream of hopes no longer.
A bipolar suit, I wear
It well, it is a weary
Moon suit and a funeral veil.
It crushes my chest at night,
I am wearing my best
Funeral veil.
Wintering, a siege,
My bipolar
Doesn’t go further
Than my own body
Yet my soul is is worn out,
I will hide my own parking lot,
Listening to my sick verses,
Blooming like a winter flower.
