I'm met by men wearing long white coats;
Who have a faraway look in their eye,
They don't look happy nor do they look sad,
Doing a job with no sense of pride,
This jacket I'm wearing is not very cozy;
My hands are wrapped around my back,
I can't wait to get in my hotel room,
And my belongings I get to unpack,
I'm escorted down halls with bright white walls,
There's an unusual smell in the air,
It's not a nice odour or charming aroma,
It's a mix of decay and despair,
I'm taken to my room (also known as a cell)
And behind them they lock the door,
"What a delightful little place" I think to myself....
It's got padded walls and floor,
I looked at my friend and he looked at me,
And in a rehearsed manner we both said.....
"If there's two of us and we're sharing a room"
Why is there only one bed?