Again I tumble toward the forgivings of love..

Mention me to the mad man sitting,

The mind he is saving
is for another.
The past he is blaming
Is just a cover.
The pain he is faking
is of a lonely lover.
But all he’s intaking
Will last forever.

He will; sit and wait and watch and wonder
  ‘How do the men that walk past can think themselves sane’

I take my seat, and alway will, with the mad man sitting.