I'm not crazy,
I swear.
You can't hear the voice?
The little bird that sits
On my shoulder and whispers
In my ear?
No?
That is your loss.
My voice tells me things
You can not imagine.
He whispers poems to me,
And sings lullabies to me,
And holds my hand when
I am scared.
But I'm not scared,
Not when he's whispering to me.
So I'm not crazy,
I swear.
My imagination is just too much
And needs to be expressed -- out --
Not kept inside because of fear.
You fear for me?
I fear for you
You have never known his whisper,
Or his music.
And you shall live hollow,
Because you have never known him --
Him who is your Genius.