Some storms are brewing like coffee in the abyss of night,
While inward flames tickle even the schizos, maniacs into fright
As somberness flirts with honesty, honesty slyly grins,
And the secrets come flying out every pore from within.
Though, sulkily sitting lies this wicked scene –
A creature being born dying, laughing eerily in the limelight, green.
This is what the insane are made of: thoughts gone sour and people, too
Conspiracies, concepts and philosophies melted wrong believed to be true.
With a plethora of people, people with a plethora of thoughts, thinking
Anything out of the ordinary is incorrect — as they’re screaming, screaming
Like a coal mine-canary with a broken neck.