Untitled
Everyone's stupid in here
but me.
I'm really too clever for words
you see.
I've done all my sums
and I've read lots of books
so why am I in here
with these bloody crooks?
If you look a bit closer
I'm sure you will find,
it's all about what's going on
in my mind.
The diagnosis
they just can't agree,
I could be depressed,
or just have a.PD.
They must have a label
before they can tell
what in fact
will make me well.
They'll give me a pill
of a special kind,
to sort out what's going wrong
in my mind.
Then they will feel better
and it will be good,
if I behave
as they think I should.
But until they succeed
I'm locked up in here
and they won't let me out
'til sometime next year .
I shout and I rave,
I cry and I scream,
but being set free
is only a dream.
The answer to this I see looking back
is not to go walking
on a train track.
'Cos however clever
you think you can be,
you'll end up locked up in here,