I Refuse To Stop the Madness

I look upon the virtue
Of acting for oneself
I refuse to stop the madness
Put my brain upon the shelf

Where they'll poke and prod
And prod and poke
And the doctor says
"Such strange folk
Come by on occasion,
The matter is simple
Take him to my table
I'll cut open his temple.
I'll tweak and change
And change and tweak
'Til all about
This soul that's weak
Is gone and dead,
And dead and gone.
Then sew back up
The skin and bone."

Doctor, friend, I must decline.
Though surgery sounds mighty fine,
What makes me weak
Makes me strong
All this soul needs is time.

"No boy, I say
You can't tell one
From two or three
Your mind is spun
So tightly round
Itself you'll see
All you know
Is falsity"

Doctor, friend, it can't be true,
For while my heart is sometimes blue,
It's sometimes black,
And sometimes red,
Your theory may be true for few

I can be odd, and it's often sad,
People ask where went the lad,
That lived before,
This man came up,
This thoroughly peculiar cad,

His sanity i must question,
How can his behaviour avoid detection?
He'll eat our pets,
And rip our gowns,
And smash any mirror to catch his reflection.

And once every couple of days
When my brain sees through the haze,
I ask a question,
Deceptively hard,
And i end up back at the start of the maze.

And i look upon the virtue
Of acting for oneself.

S. Drury-Godden, 2005. ©