Madmen hear music that is heard like a symphony

To rest of us it plays unwell as a sort of cacophony

Something majoring in the key of clashing dissonance

That we swear that in the future we will have vigilance

To avoid in all that we say, see, hear and even do

But, these sorts of choices in life are fewer than few

Rolling instead with the hands we are dealt to play

We improvise our way through each of our busy days

Even the sanest among us have too many minute voices

And find ourselves strapped in making our best choices

Id over ego starts the dice into play as we toss and they roll

Only a handful of us realizing that’s the degree of our control

We stumble on forward into this life of holding another’s hand

And find that here, right here, is where we choose to make our stand