Chicken scratches on a piece of paper Nothing but words, so insubstantial Are they completely meaningless, or Will some individual, somewhere Read them and be touched? There is nothing touching about the Hand of Insanity reaching out, tinting The thoughts of a brilliant mind My words, my chicken scratches are The result of the turmoil inside of me Sitting and writing, slipping into madness Can anyone even see? Or do they take my words for An intent to say something With some deep meaning about life? Maybe they are the ones Touched by the Hand of Insanity