My mood’s too high, psychiatrist says,
I frighten Mum. Is this the best
That I can do. I must try more
To keep my feet down on the floor.
Now we’re too close: I’ll give you that,
I wish that I was at my flat.
Now we’re enmeshed – oh what the heck.
I light a candle in my room,
Dance around, blast out my tunes.
I burn the candle at both ends:
I just need to see my friends.
I just need to arrive at Spin,
I twitch my toes, I pick my skin:
A stitch bursts out from drain site, yesterday.
Lie on my bed and now I pray
For calm and solace from my G-d.
He doesn’t listen, now I thud
Down the stairs and up again.
Oh, when will this nightmare end.
I light my flamingo in the dark,
The fluffy’s here, not at the park,
My fluffy’s with me, I kiss his head –
They’ll all miss me when I’m dead.
They will think they could’ve done
Much more to help the lonely one.
As I lie here, writing this,
All I want now is his kiss.
All I need now is some peace
But I’ve angered the mood police.
They kettle me with batons and
I pick, I pick, I pick my hand.
I touch and touch and touch my hair:
Where is my love, for he’s not there.
And he’s not here, I spin around
I wish my feet would clasp the ground.
I wish my head was calm inside,
I’ve tried to come down, how I’ve tried,
I’ve tried to rest and tried to sleep,
But always there, there is the bleep
Of mania and racing mind:
I really, really, really ought
To just lie down.
“Think beautiful thoughts,” Mum says:
She will miss me when I’m dead.
They will miss me when I’ve gone,
Into the sky, up to the moon.
I fly about the sky now here,
It is bright blue, it is so clear.
A wood pigeon coos, it is now day –
Can’t help it if I want to play.
Can’t help it if I want to run
To catch the burning, rising sun,
To catch the winged horses high,
I lift my arms, I touch the sky,
I lift my head, I leave the ground:
The world it spins around, around.
Give me light and give me space,
Life is long – it’s not a race.
The tortoise trundles, heavy, home:
He wins the race, he takes the throne,
And I, the hare, am blown off course,
I really must now try to force
The race to end. And I must rest:
The race has ended and I’m last.
Oh, how I want just one glass
Of wine, but I can’t drink it anymore.
I wish my feet would touch the floor,
I hold my head up, head up high,
My light burns out but how I try.
*1984. Song by Queen from the album The Works.