I am a baw hair away from the nut house.

I’m no kiddin, I’m no sleeping, talking to myself like a

I am also acting like those who are in nappies, droolin
their words, trying to remember where I put things. No kidding, I am this close
to ward 24.

I am taking the strain of everyone on top of me. I’m taking
everything that happens in work, then going home taking all the strains of
home, and the lovely joys that entails.

They don’t even admit you any more, you are handed loopy
tablets, and hope for the best, I would love a wee quiet room, with my notebook
for company. Now you can only pay for a stay in the nut house, god bless Betty
Ford, and The Priory.

I also wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, stuck out in the
sticks, with your thoughts for company, I would love isolation, I hate people, I
like the quiet, I would even have took a job as a shepherd but it would mean
dealing with a dug and sheep.

So what’s left for me, apart from running naked through the
high street with the polis chasing after me?

Well go out with a bang, with a smile in ma face.