Up the hill and down again

I Wonder Why

hospital grounds

Those Shuffling Feet From The Past

THOSE SHUFFLING FEET FROM THE PAST

What nice grounds the Victorians gave the insane

The funny farm suitable for labour

Then came industrial therapy

Putting things in boxes,

Putting things in boxes,

Putting things in boxes,

Putting things in boxes.

A few bob at the end of the week

Twenty cigarettes

It keeps the mind active

Or so it was said.

The watchtower to keep an eye out for any escapees

The years of struggle that beat the spirit down

Those shuffling feet just keep on walking

An endless road along psychiatric corridors.

Our songs will rise

Our songs will rise

Breaking through the walls of discrimination,

Our songs will rise

Our songs will rise

Tearing down the walls of exploitation.

So here we are in this cruel age of spinning

Where those on top

Just seem to keep on winning

Compassion is a word so rarely spoken

Money is made out of every possible opportunity.

Such spacious grounds the Victorians gave the insane

The trees still blossom

The birds still sing,

I say let’s turn these dark institutions

Into luxury flats.

Cries from the past

Hear them echo

Shuffling feet on hospital lino

Keep on walking

Smoking another cigarette

Cigarette smoke coming through the air vent.

Admission

Section

Acute ward

Long stay ward

Now you can buy a home here,

How could anyone set up home in an ECT room?

On medication we feel drowsy

On medication we pace up and down

Those shuffling feet just keep on walking

An endless road along psychiatric corridors.

Our songs will rise

Our songs will rise

Breaking through the walls of exploitation,

Our songs will rise

Our songs will rise

Tearing down the walls of discrimination.

So as you walk round this property developers dream

You walk alongside those shuffling feet from the past,

Those institutionalised clothes

Never became a fashion item

But our daily struggles can lead to nervous breakdowns.

So as you walk around the grounds

Around the grounds

Around the grounds,

If someone comes up to you and says

Got a fag?

Got ten pence?

Don’t be alarmed

Don’t be alarmed,

They are just trying to communicate

They are just trying to be your friend.

Frank Bangay

2004

A Happy Summer Home

Clouds are islands in the sky

A Topsy Turvey Life