| "3 AM" |
| My head throbs on quite steadily While my pen loses its ink I know not what I should do Nor what I should think. I need to sleep or I'll go mad Yet the need to write holds on If I do neither or if I do all, Either way, I'll break by dawn. Nothing makes sense, yet its all so clear, I can hardly not see the words They stand like soldeirs straight and tall, Then they fly like insane birds. If you read this and it seems so queer, Then truly you are the norm, But one who writes at 3 am, Now there's one who defines lunacy in its true form. |