Sadness is madness, but madness is sick.
Various diseases make me believe
sickness is quickness, but quickness is quick-
ly making your flaws appearant to me.

To love is to die, but sickness is warmth.
You lead me to warmth when light provides none.
YOu are my beacon, my fire, my hearth.
But when I approach you, I get your shun.

The sick are mad, but madness is sadness.
You are the poison, the bad bite, the dart.
You overlooked that sadness is gladness.
So thank you for always hating the art.

You make me feel well when the well are not sane.
Never will you ever touch me again.