GUILTY OF BEING CRAZY [Verse 1] Distance is the only thing comfortable. Hearing this voice in my head, undeniable. Questionable but still unreliable. Remarkable how just one voice can control the man till he’s destructible. Self inaudible. Invisible, words come out But the meaning’s incomprehensible. Every thought’s defensible, Till the logic gets questionable. Internal conversations turning into something detrimental. Trying to distinguish what’s imagined from what’s credible. My mind’s become a courtroom, every thought is circumstantial. Evidence is mental, but the damage is substantial. Nothing’s coincidental when you’re searching for connections, Turning ordinary moments into personal reflections. Second-guessing every sentence, Every silence, every mention. Caught between perception and the weight of my intentions. I can hear myself speaking, but I’m questioning the source, When your mind becomes the witness and the suspect in the court. [Hook] Am I guilty or just guilty of being crazy, baby? Is it something that I did or what the drugs have made me? Every thought becomes another accusation lately, Still awaiting judgment from the mind that’s trying to break me. [Verse 2] Am I guilty or just guilty of being crazy. Been thinking lately, getting faded too much and my mind is disintegrating. Am I shady or is it just the drugs I’m taking. Degrading, weaponating anything to find control to stop this investigating. Non stop circles narrating my thoughts until there bombs dropping off whatever falls. Not trying to hurt anyone, I’m just trying to escape my skull that I call walls. Interrogating every thought until the truth becomes debatable. Separating facts from feelings, finding neither one reliable. Mentally unstable, but my memory’s still available. Doesn’t mean the things I think are automatically explainable. I keep cross-examining myself for explanations, Confusing my suspicions with legitimate observations. Every accusation needs a little verification, But I’m both the prosecution and the one under examination. Self-incrimination through internal conversations, A guilty conscience doesn’t always mean a guilty situation. If my mind’s the only witness, what’s the credibility? And if I’m judging my own thoughts, who’s judging my ability? [Hook] Am I guilty or just guilty of being crazy, baby? Is it something that I did or what the drugs have made me? Every thought becomes another accusation lately, Still awaiting judgment from the mind that’s trying to break me. [Verse 3] Objection to the questions, I object to my objections, Every answer that I give becomes another contradiction. Recollection isn’t proof, but it’s feeding my convictions, Got a photographic memory with questionable descriptions. I can recognize the patterns, doesn’t mean I know the reasons, I can memorize a sentence, doesn’t mean I know its meaning. I can analyze a silence till I swear I hear it speaking, Then mistake my own interpretation for the evidence I’m seeking. Premeditated thoughts, but I never made decisions, Got a sentence in my head without a crime or a conviction. Presumed guilty by a jury made of my own inhibitions, And the judge is my reflection with a history of suspicion. If I plead insanity, am I pleading for forgiveness? If I plead that I’m innocent, who can prove I never did it? I’m not asking for acquittal, I’m just asking for precision, Cause there’s a difference between guilt and being scared of your own thinking. I don’t need another theory, I need something I can measure, Something solid in the record that survives a little pressure. But the more I chase a verdict, the more questions get presented, And the case remains suspended cause the witness is the defendant. [Final Hook] Am I guilty or just guilty of being crazy, baby? Is it something that I did or what the drugs have made me? Every thought becomes another accusation lately, Still awaiting judgment from the mind that’s trying to break me. [Outro] No verdict. No confession. Just another question. And another interrogation.
