Waiting in line
passing the time reading
four month old magazines
The pale walls given life
by the florescent lights
exposing stains in the carpeting
And sitting at my side
this mockery of life
a plastic plant strictly
for tasteless decor
No one makes a sound
but the sirens seeping through
the space between
the door and the floor
Well there's nothing left to say
the words just collapse into
colorful waves
in the spectrum of sound
and it's easy on the ears
and it's nice to hear
but it doesn't mean a thing
No it doesn't mean a thing
The silence breaks
like a small earthquake shattering
he calm it's my name
And the familiar scent
of sterile instruments
filters out from inside the hallway
Your chin falls towards your lap
you know you can't come back
just one more thing to make
this a little bit harder
You'll wait for the turn out
so then a sense of doubt hangs
in the air like grief
in a funeral parlor
Where there's nothing left to say
the words just collapse into
colorful waves
in the spectrum of sound
and it's easy on the ears
and it's nice to hear
but it doesn't mean a thing
No it doesn't mean
No it doesn't mean
No it doesn't mean a thing
So tell me I'm okay
with no areas of gray
Tell me I can go just
don't say you don't know
because there's nothing
I can't take like these areas
of gray so tell me I'm okay