Bethany Home

The harsh winter air hangs
Stagnant dark and it's cold
I stare into the glass pane
See my reflection I'm growing old
Across street thirty-three
She stands up braving time
Built of bricks so long ago
And souls now left to die

This is not a home
It's just a place to die
The elderly are forgotten
Never never never knowing why

Men and Women are aged
Their memories are antique
I'd give my life away
To hear stories from the century

Another paramedic van
With sirens light and noise
Another stretcher sheet pulled up tight
My own mortality is feared