I think I'll expect madness in the morning- The only reasonable prescription, given the warning Of spiders crawling under my skin, And crickets in my brain, again. I think I'll expect madness close to noon- Certain chaos, at least one spoon, And an invisible, imagined friend, On whom the whole thing will depend. I think I'll expect madness when it damn well pleases- Booking last minute appointments for when it seizes My feet, my lips- grabs my hair, And drags me off adventuring somewhere. I think I'll expect madness from dusk till dawn- Everything burning, till everything's gone- But when the smoke and cinders have blown away, Will madness desert me, or will it stay?