What's beyond the orange chair, beyond the glossy hall?
And is the shadow really there or purple on the wall?
Are the lined up all in line or are they all apart?
Is this a whistle in your chest or is it still a heart?
The sleeping girl in 55 has problems in her head
Are we the ones who are alive or are we all the dead?
Your painted pictures fill the walls an imprint of your soul
Is it true insanity or just loss of control?
With walls of blue, and floors of blue what color is this room?
Do you define it by the bed or handle of the broom?
Does one mistake make who you are, is it your only trait?
Is craziness our shining star? Was it by chance or fate?
And so we call the blind man blind, not spirited with glee
His downfall, his entirety is that he cannot see
So all of us are crazy men inside the crazy place
we aren't defined by talents, or by choices, or our faith
The blue man's blue, the dead man's dead, the sea is full of fish
And every whisper is the wind, and every dream a wish
And though my shadow on the wall seems purple and 2D
behind it is a crazy girl who seems a lot like me
The frail aren't strong, the old aren't young, the blind man cannot look
Do you read the inside or the cover of the book?
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