... you looked around and saw everybody either married or busy and happy and thinking and being creative, and you felt scared, sick, lethargic, worst of all, not wanting to cope. You saw visions of yourself in a straightjacket, and a drain on the family, murdering your mother in actuality, killing the edifice of love and respect built up over the years in the hearts of other people.

A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness

If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.

What have I eaten? Lies and smiles.

No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.