Crazy Room

Crazy Room

The sun shines through the window,
It lights our dark, not truly,
The real light gives way to shadow,
Will our minds ever be free.

Our voices in our head,
Conscience you could call it,
Dark things they have said,
Our hearts scream as we sit.

We face our clay creations,
Moulded by thy hand,
Clay on hand sensations,
Our minds need not be found.

We scream and weep and cry,
Our voice unheard by most,
That deafness makes us die,
To our madness we are host.