Looking out
See the rain, the falling rain. Feel the earth, the blood soaked earth. Hear the the trees, the wind in the trees. See the birds, their feathers, the breeze.
Hear the whispers, those lovely voices. Such a friendly madness, no worries no choices. The jukebox keeps playing those tired old tunes, endless funk, sphycadellic groove.
It's slipping, composure, the facade is going. It's such an odd little rowboat, no oars but still rowing. Still thinking some thoughts, covluted they be. It's crowded in here, even for me.
A friendly insanity I'll go swimming in me, I'm not even worried, I won't try to break free. The voices, my friends, how long has it been? There's more of you, now we are ten.
So perfect, my precious, mind is now mist. Once i saw a swirl, a twist. I'm a walking scarecrow, but ironically crows love me. Maybe I attract them, or maybe their just hungry.
