So many demons, so few diagnoses.
Anxiety disorder. Borderline. OCD.
Manic episodes with a touch of paranoia.
Someone playing 'The Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" in your head.
Sure, everybody's a little off.
But here's the catch:
You're not crazy until you quit worrying you are.
Would you rather not know you're nuts
when you're sure you're Woodrow Wilson, and everyone else is insane?
Maybe it was simpler in the Bible days.
Miracles instead of pharmaceuticals.
The naked man living in the tombs
—"Legion" was his name-o—
hundreds of unclean spirits possessing his unquiet soul.
Jesus with his flair for theatricality
Cast the demons out of him
And into some unsuspecting pigs
who ran off a cliff and downed.
You gotta wonder: What would PETA do?
Which do you trust,
a pig, a pill, or Patsy Cline?