(Chris DeGarmo) 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 shes looking at me. Old man is strapped to the seat of his chair wearing a gown, shouting and cursing at someone who clearly isnt around. 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, from society. 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. Youve left them here for me.
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