for the pleasure of my brain
I prefer to be insane
because then with ease
I can do what I please
and all I admire
I will forget it
and all I desire
I will shed it
there is a little man with pain
in the middle of the lane
trying to cross
to the other side
like a leaping frog
in the middle of the night
she never said hello or goodbye
and I know she was really not too shy
with her fancy dress
as a blue star
and she is still here
and out so far
so is it wild love or blind rage
that keeps me trembling on the stage?
and who of the misty milky way
is eating thousand years every day?
or is it wild rage or bind love?
am I an eagle and you are above?
and if silence is the last true word
it will be spoken but never be heard