From nowhere to infirmary

When the days were done clad in winter clothes

There was infirm, the soul

That the body would wind up besides the church wall

The paint on the walls would splutter with dregs going haywire

Now on the floor where I ended up as an old jalopy

Beaten by the system that would crypt science as art

And art as fallow had been left undone for decades

There were shadows of the ghosts who worked up the system

Cops were silent marauders of the socialist agenda

And infirm I ended in one such hospital in Montreal

Forbidden love was in the realms of sex

Some silent hullo would mean

A cry for the hollow in the head

Where the end would mean the music of the souls

I had entered infirmary from nowhere



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