Sylvia, I understand
It is not so hard to comprehend
Why Sylvia in that oven met her end
Even though yes I know
She was too young to go
And stole so much potential beauty
But was it asking of her a fair duty
To live in a mind tossed up and down
Until it lies useless upon the ground
It’s this disease that has no cure
And only a few can truly endure
Without either raging or crying
Or grand ideas nobody’s buying
Sad is the clear embarrassing truth
When one realizes mania was the root
And she didn’t have the answers after all
The pieces that seemed to fit begin to fall,
There’s help for it in our enlightened time,
Even if the results are much less than fine
But the pills would have surely made her sane
She could have lain still with nothing to bring
And sleep like an innocent soul
Because the cure is good but takes a toll
What one must give up is some of the art,
For a chance for a normal life to start,
She was given a towering talent,
But gifts will not relent,
And all chances at life are crazily bent,
And then there come babes and a gent,
Until all she had was utterly spent.