I Don't Feel Well

Sickness

They didn't say its name
In fact they’ve never spoken
Of the sickness they were certain
Was the thing which made her broken

Broken like a polluted sky
On a summer day with bright blue lie
Sick just like the victim’s plea
As she falls from grace on bended knee

In sterile corridor there was a whisper
Her kind a known and loved endeavour
Of those white coated learn-ed men
Tempted when her smile crept in

Creeping like a locker room leech
Seeking something out of reach
Sucking blood to cure disease
Sickness cured the sick to please

And so she drew upon her face
A picture full of intriguing grace
She realised the way sickness to beat
Was to give in; admit defeat

Defeated like the men in white coats?
Or defeated like the balloon that floats?
Far from where the crowd is mad
And there’s no room for good or bad