Schizophrenic

I call our speech a simple word salad, A word salad said in a cloud, Not because they look beautiful, But because of how they’re set out, And even though the grammar is fine, Each line’s how we want it expressed, The talk as a whole is completely absurd, The content just doesn't make sense, You see, we often begin with “It’s sunny somewhere. Hello, I love a full spoon,” To end up with, “You can walk a mountain of dirt. To me you look like you're a tune.” These people each day talk with me in my head, Just me and all them in my brain, And we’d love to talk with you but we can’t, We can’t because you’re not insane.