I walk this long white corridor,
With corpses either side,
Toe tagged and body bagged,
And soaked in Formaldehyde,
Fluids drained no life remains,
I pass them as they sleep,
I cannot wake anyone of them,
Because their slumber is so deep.
First a man, who was sick to death,
Of the choices he had made,
He found his path to happiness,
On the edge of a razorblade,
He had no life, it didn’t matter,
Now he can finally rest,
Now he finds himself on a silver table,
With stitches down his chest.
Second a woman who wasn’t ill,
Just simply at that stage,
No sickness or foul play here,
Just a severe case of old age,
She will always be remembered,
A family in dismay,
On a silver table, all pale and cold,
With a smile she will lay.
Last a girl so beautiful,
So gorgeous in her rest,
Eyes rolled back inside her head,
And stitches down her chest,
Once a cherished daughter,
Now a victim of obsession,
I like to brush her hair at night,
Like she is in my possession,
A soul-less splendor lying there,
In a never ending sleep,
I wish she was my girlfriend,
One that I could keep,
I hold her hands to pass the time,
No pulse is there to feel,
Sometimes it feels one sided,
It’s like a love that isn’t real,
One day she will move on from here,
To a grave so far away,
There’s nothing I can do about it,
There’s nothing I can say,
I’ll just stand there showing no emotion,
As the hearse drives away,
Another corpse I loved and lost,
But tomorrow’s another day. |
