Moon Crazed

Oh, Oh! The full moon is almost full bloom. I know what that means. Get the straitjacket. Tie me down; lock me in a padded room. They say I make a helluva racket. I don't grow copious hair or large fangs. Wish I did. This way a stake or bullet Would end my monthly lunatic harangues. Either suggestion hasn't been tried yet. It's god awful, controlled by the damn moon. I become a different kind of person: Jekyll in the morn, Hyde by afternoon. You'd think over time that it would lessen A bit, Yea, right! I'd have a better chance Of seeing god perform a song and dance.