The Mad Man

The Mad Man sits upon his seat
he doesn’t drink he doesn’t eat,
babbling, babbling like a babbling brook
he knows your name, the bloody crook,
Come night he screams, come night he’ll shout
‘til madness makes you search him out,
and when you find him full of pain
he’ll say: “it’s possible it’s you whose really not sane,”
this thought consumes you as he resumes his demonic prose
“Of course were still sane” you say out loud… but his thought till forever echoes.

The Mad Man

Thomas GrymStone

Joined November 2007

  • Artist
    Notes
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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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