Sane people with knives
Calmly cut at first
Until the boiling blood arrives
And then they quench their thirst
Leaving less than none
The cuts have just begun
Sane people with knives are worst

With a blank and restless stare
They clean and sharpen blades
Sitting in the corner there,
Watching from the shade
That others feel outcast
But after the sun is passed
The loons best be afraid

For who is mad?
And what is crazy?
When the sane would have
Us pushing daisies

And in the end, the sane with knives
Or whatever they were called
The ones with "plain" and "normal" lives
We-re not so sane at all