Arden House, Arden House
You make me feel like a mouse,
When I have to go for a medical
As I stumble through the door
I know I've been here before,
Less clinical, more clerical/cynical
Will they pronounce me fit for work,
Even though it will make me beserk?
I try to act on their stage,
I'm shunted here and told to wait there
They make on like they care,
They don't see I'm full of rage.
Can I walk, kneel, or stand?
Can I do anything with my hand?
They ask me how I got here.
So I tell them I got up at three
And made a cup of tea,
Then fell asleep, I fear
And now I'm here.
You're at the bottom!