Her Madness
she loves to dance in bedlam
to the beat the shadows throw
in a gown of sequin macabre
since her mind left home
where webs of deceit hang from chandlers
and madness is the party game
blowing the horns of something's wrong
in an eerie game of charades
the cook that's in her kitchen
bakes a don't dare go there souffle
though she dips her fingers in it
through out her darken days
you may take the chance in joining her in dance
on this the razors edge
when all is said and the day has bled
she pulls the sheets of madness up on her bed
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