‘Mad Woman’ Eugene Delacroix, 1822

There’s a mad woman who lives on my street
Sings sad songs and wears nothing on her feet.
She wanders unsteadily to and fro,
Perhaps unsure of where to go?
She talks to herself, of course, and cries
And no one listens, no one replies.
She’s a nut job, it’s true, she’s round the bend
But sometimes I think I could be her friend.

I know her pain, I’ve felt despair
I often wake up with the crazy hair
Of sleepless nights and aimless days
Where hope is the fix that never stays.
So crazy lady let me hold you tight
And though you hurt, know it will be alright.