Madness is quite a peculiar feeling,
I’m afraid of the world in which I so well fit,
Les mots, les sons, les heures sont bien peu, trop nombreux,
I can’t see everything, so why can I know much?

To be aware of times on unlimited scale
When yours has both birth and demise…
I’m afraid of the words I no longer can tell
As I fear they will be too big for me, sand grain.

But I still look up to the light that burns me
Because I feel the heat so intense and so pure.
Why on Earth should there be these few lonely souls
Who can’t look at the world with no fear for their end?

Madness, my friend, you are so good comfort
For those not understood who feel sad in daylight,
Who can’t fit in standards made for imaginary men,
Il y a trop à vivre mais hélas peu d’instants…

W.P.

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