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.
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