The impulse
A rapture
A cold-hearted capture
The mind, so weak
Its crumbling infrastructure
What we hear is not what we know
This is my mind, but I wouldn’t call it home
Nor a prison
Or a rapture
Nor a cold-hearted capture
Oh what a jubilant parade
A euphoric asylum
My mind is a place where I’m constantly shining
The hedonistic splurges
Terbulant surges
A delightful delerium
Of creative momentum
My mind is split in two
I could be in heaven
Then hell
This my mind, take it as you will.
Truth 