Little girl sits in the corner
locked in a stare.
Arms waiving madly at something
that sadly isnt there.
Dressed in the days best by a nurse
whos nowhere to be found.
What does she see ?
Maybe she's looking at me.
Old man is strapped to the seat of his chair
wearing a gown,
shouting and cursing at someone who clearly
Father Time has twisted his mind. The staff says,
Hes not well !
To whom does he speak ?
Maybe hes speaking to me.
So we keep these people inside these walls,
Their forgotten lives safe from the crowd,
they cant leave.
Through the doors come people like me,
good-bye to them.
They see a picture few of us see.
They cant leave.
You've left them here for me.