I’m living in a room of white;
I hate it here, yet won’t fight.
I talk to myself all the time;
In riddles and rhyme.
The Doctors think I’m nuts.
I wear a straight jacket;
Wrapped up like a little packet.
As they try to figure me out ;
I just scream and shout.
The Doctors think I’m nuts.
As I laugh at the needles and probe;
All I can see is a light of strobe.
They call me a lunatic;
Say, I’m mentally ill and physically sick.
The Doctors think… I’M NUTS!!!
wil becker
1992
