Ward C

If you ever go looking around for me

You will find me in a bed in Ward C

A cold feather pillow under my head

Made up of feathers of a bird long dead

Across my body are straps to hold me down

Gag over my mouth so I cannot make a sound

In a bed across from me is a man wearing white

Talks to himself all day and all through the night

They are going to come and take me away soon

Put me in a clean hard bed in my own private room

They will put a long sharp skinny needle in my arm

To keep me from causing myself or anyone any harm

They say that I will slowly and gently fall into a sleep

There will be no one there that is going to weep

They will bury me on a bank where a river use to flow

A place where no flowers will ever again grow

I hope to awake where there is honey and there is wine

So I can quit living inside of my painful mind