Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Echoes in death’s waiting room.

The elderly have been sent to await their fate

In a place where air wears death’s perfume.

 

They grab their fruit cup snacks and sit in gloom

They long for the warm home table and filling plate.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Echoes in death’s waiting room.

 

The air is stale and chocks lungs with fumes

The beds are stained with urine from a neglected state

In a place where air wears death’s perfume

 

The wheelchairs line up in a backward bloom

They shrink in size till they are packed in crates

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Echoes in death’s waiting room.

 

This place might as well be a final resting tomb

Men and women left to twiddle their thumbs at the gate

In a place where air wears death’s perfume

 

A lady clings to a picture of a groom

Memories slip and she longs for her departed mate

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Echoes in deaths waiting room

In a place where air wears death’s perfume.