The Maniac on the Island

by Jim Farrar (1981)

There’s a maniac on the island who watches the waves
Roll in along the beach,
You’ll find him very hard to talk to,
And you’ll find him very hard to reach.
He’s a madman of the first degree.

With eyes afire and fears that seethe.
He’s a genius, he’s you, and he’s me;
But his dreams are torn at the seams.
So he really doesn’t care if the world views
His dirty underwear.

He’s a poet, a drinker, and a thinker;
A soldier of the bad rhyme!
He can’t see down,
But he won’t look up.
He’s ever-trapped behind his ever-frown.

He says that he’s the king of this island,
With courts, queens and castles all his own.
His woman’s a seamstress who wears a snow-white gown...
She sings a song of birds that cry
While good men drown.

Yes, he’s great in his own time and mind.
He dreams.
He shouts.
He walks and talks in a fantasy: He can make fireballs fly.

Now watch him slowly die.

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