Edward, Edward.

Edward, Edward, why do you weep,

and slump so in your chair?

What keeps your eyes from finding sleep,

and paints such redness there?


One brother lies in his own heart's blood,

in - I cannot name the place-

The other must wear a lying hood

of ignorance on his face.


Death is abroad, mother, and I

can find no peace of heart.

Others must die this crazy night

whose lives seem branched apart.


Something escapes me, it flees my mind,

the key to the carnage is lost,

and in seemingly random killing I find

the soul of a schizoid tossed.


Nearly two hours have I huddled here,

wrestling the Gordian knot;

for the end of all approaches near,

and I still cannot follow the plot!