Just Another Case...

The California air, your nightgown on the stairs...
I remember every night; scenes from home, in the Quiet Room.

How long have I been gone? Did winter kill the lawn?
And all those polaroids you sent are on the wall in the Quiet Room.

They've got this place Where they've been keeping me.
Where I can't hurt myself; I can't get my wrists to bleed.
Just don't know why suicide appeals to me.

The Quiet Room is sterilized and white.
It's like a tomb, with just a moth-stained naked night.

Plastic forks and spoon, no laces in my shoes.
They all know what I tried to do Outside the Quiet Room.

This quiet place, it ain't so new to me.
It's haunted atmosphere has heard so many screams.
My home from home, my twilight zone, my strangest dream.

My confidant; I have confessed my life.
The Quiet Room knows more about me than my wife.

They've got this place Where they've been keeping me.
Where I can't hurt myself, I just can't--
I just can't get these damn wrists to bleed!

A mattress on the floor, no handles on the door.

I really need nothing more.


...I'm alone...