Early Days Of Madness

The sorrows that are—with or without our will

The terrors that set men lightly fleeing

It could only be this

Or something worse

A man was running along the street – and fast

There was sweat dripping off his brow

And terror in his unblinking eyes

Yet no one was after him

Or knew why or where

But I saw him get smaller

And disappear way beyond in selfsame speed

Seemed like he’ll never stop running

Like a man in early days of madness

He’ll run on a long while I thought

For the demons he was fleeing

I saw them in his eyes

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