The voices in my head are like little birds perched on the roof eaves, warbling discordant melodies. The chittering in my brain is incessant
The nonsense pouring out ricochets around the attic rafters, rolling off the shingles through the gaping mouths of gargoyles as so much gurgling noise.
Undamnedable, the cascade of words flood over me, washing away reason and wit, leaving me to babble inharmoniously with the birds.
Random thoughts, pool at my feet, coalescing into stories that ripple out eternally. The words cease only when the Mission Tiles slide from the roof ridge and fall on my head.