I can watch the streets from far above the madding crowd,
all I need surrounds me, enclosed in a concreit shroud.
Trapped in a world that i made, created for my own protection,
even though company I crave, psycosis reminds me of rejection.
Screams in an ivory tower are seldom if ever heard,
by the time they hit the streets, they can be drowned by a whispered word.
So I submit to solitude and dream of the people I see
and what it would be like to talk to them,
to have a question answered from a voice which did not come from me.
I wrote this in 1994, at the time I was living in a small room above a pub. The only technology I had was a radio cassette player.
You Can still be alone in a crowded room.