The night wind whispers
Blows in through my window
Bringing the tales of the world
Whispers them in my ear

If I could just understand
The stories it brings
But it's probably for the best
Doubt anyone could handle
That much information

But sometimes they get through
And we can understand them
But it's just bits and pieces
(And sometimes distorted
Beyond any recognition)
And only when we sleep

When we are younger
We are more perceptive
(Ever wondered why kids
Have such an active imagination)
And some of the people who
Society considers mad
They can understand
And they are not capable
Of coping with it

There are also those
Who can perceive it
More than most
Those are the artists;
The authors, painters
And composers
(And some of them are
What society calls mad)