There’s a song playing in the distance.
I’ve got tunnel vision of an old box.
Memories of the old resistance.
Blurry sights of the past.
Thoughts will come and go.
Don’t worry though,
They won’t last.

A song is playing in the distance.
Endless mumbles.
Dark sights explaining failed resistance.
Time is moving fast.
Good times will come and go.
Don’t worry though,
“bad times will be something of the past.”

A song is playing,
no longer in the distance.
The music can be heard clearly now.
The tune brings thoughts of how.
How I’ve ended up in a place like this.
I can’t help but wonder what I’ll miss.
Thoughts are bombarding my head.
All I can think of is that night in bed.
The regret will come and go.
Don’t worry though
because of this, you won’t end up dead.

Someone is singing.
Right outside the door.
I want to live in the life I had before.
I look over at the old box on the floor.
The box is filled with memories of grace.
Memories my Mom delivered to this place.
Now the thoughts keep coming at a rapid pace.
Loved ones will come and go.
Don’t worry though,
that’s a part of life you cannot replace.

One loud knock on the door
And the singing stopped.
The door opened and a figure entered.
It’s the doctor who makes sure I am fed.
He stood in the doorway centered,
looked over to me and said,
“common room is closed for the night:
it’s time for bed.”
What’s the point in putting up a fight?
The door closed, and I was in my head.
Strength will come and go.
Don’t worry though,
“There will be no weakness in the end.”
At least that’s what they said.

The song starts to play again.
I guess I’ll be checking out for the night.
Only if sleep wasn’t such a hard fight.
I close my eyes and imagine the end.
I’ve heard this is something they recommend.