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