Never felt I was a sad soul, though I carry sadness
Nor do I feel like an anxious man, though I tremble
So why should I concede to the weight of my madness?
When my thought process is that of circular ensembles;
Simply just not comprehensible in my feeble mind
If I feel heavy today does that does that make me fat?
When in carrying another's weight you could see me kind
Feeling out of place today, could this not be my habitat?
When feeling is one thing and being is another
Returning to my former self will be my endeavour
And I see no other reason or purpose to wonder
Otherwise I'm wasted, an empty vessel forever  
   Just a sad slave to the hysteria trying to find a place
   Just another lost soul, an exterior that can't be caged