Straight and crowded are lined the walls of white decay
Through sickness and in health do we too stand here and wait
For better or worse, the latter seeming only to often
Silent and still, crowded and hushed, another wheeled by
Black demons stand shoulder to shoulder with empty hearts
Muttering those words which lift the uncompleted soul away
We think these places are here for help, not for sadness
But littering this country, there they stand, never empty