For shame, I feel I am to be
The most bumbling fool you'll dare to see.
I will admit, though not too proud
My insanity seems to draw a crowd.
Ever since I was a tyke
Mother never liked my type.
I spoke too quick, I laughed too strange
I loved to run out in the rain.
She kept me in this little box
Filled with paper, sticks, and rocks.
With no one there to ease my pain
I became a bit, a shade insane.
Mother dearly then got sick
Father never gave a lick.
Brother dearest left me be
Let me wander by the trees.
Now I leave to ponder this
Shall I ever make the list?