To Insanity

When one becomes insane, do they actually know they are?
Do they know they are to blame?
Or is just a normal day?
Do they know right from wrong?
Do they know they're singing a song?
Do they hear the voices in their head?
Or do they feel like they're truly dead?
Perhaps it's all, perhaps it's not.
Perhaps when you're insane, you don't know that you're done.
But like a disease, it is contagious.
Like a song in your head that you can't get rid of.
Because a birdy told you so...
...Or maybe it was the pink elephant...
It matters not, the source of information, or of sexual orientation.
It can affect us all.
And how do we know we're not infected already?
It's not like it was screaming at us like a zombie...
...Or maybe it did?
Did you hear that, Ted?
Shut up, Tommy.
I know it's not true...
Why do you speak to be so?
Does the person next to me know what I'm going to do?
Does he hear you too?
Perhaps not, cause if he did, he'd run screaming taboos.
For all the rant, and all the rave, to insanity I stay a slave...