Madchild, idlewild, thou shalt not suffer this bitch's brew:
a world of wicked whirling winds, wings of chaos whispering to featherflight,
and gypsy skirts swirling in a motley dance of forest song and autumn night-hue
Mad flights, mad nights
but you haven't
Red red eyes and goldenrod hair; flitter here, feather there. Horror dawn and the calvacade, glorious makings of manic masquerade. Here he comes, ace of spades, it ain't all good but he don't complain. Queen of hearts, silver line, she comes up prancin' and ain't she fine? They call it black, Jack, so gimme the dime; 'cause I'll be damned if 21 isn't mine. Little silver symbols, tarnished gold, we'll be like the warriors before we're too old. Blue as black like a heart attack, Jack, look at that. Whose eye's on that prize, I'd like to know. Well come on, come all, she's gonna give it a go. There go Thomas the Rhymer and Tamerlane, and who's to say if that Janet's the same?
Hell, here come the gypsies off of the road, shattering the silence, welcome back home. Artfully scarred, these doors aren't barred, with the open night air, dancing under green-shrouded stars. With the smoke of endeavors rising up from my feet, the eyes are twitching-I feel the devil next to me. Get back, Old Scratch, and get in line-I've been there and back, you can't scare me this time. The red red hooves have left the stage, I thank your stars for a half-maiden's rage. Look at that heart attack, hungry for more. Hell, Jack, take it back, I'll open the door.
Mad child, idle wild, no, father, I'm not in pain,
but you better believe it's these crazy nights to blame.