Chris DeGarmo)



Little girl sits in the corner

locked in a stare.

Arms waiving madly at something

that sadly isn¹t there.

Dressed in the day¹s best by a nurse

who¹s nowhere to be found.

What does she see ?

Maybe she¹s looking at me.



Old man is strapped to the seat of his chair

wearing a gown,

shouting and cursing at someone who clearly

isn¹t around.

Father Time has twisted his mind. The staff says,

³He¹s not well !²

To whom does he speak ?

Maybe he¹s speaking to me.



So we keep these people inside these walls,

from society.

Their forgotten lives safe from the crowd,

they can¹t leave.

Through the doors come people like me,

good-bye to them.

They see a picture few of us see.

They can¹t leave.

You¹ve left them here for me