Waiting and fuming
An hour’s gone by
They call me a patient
But I don’t know why

Finally my name’s called
I open my eyes
A little confused with
A touch of surprise

Did he call me?
I’m not really sure
But no one else moves
So I start to stir

I stand and I stretch
I head for THE door
I’m glad ‘cause I couldn’t
Have waited much more

So how are we feeling?
Well, the doctor seems fine
But I have to admit
To a sore, numb behind

I make the mistake
Of a little small talk
Forgetting it’s all
Being timed by the clock

By the time I get ‘round
To the problem I bring
The doctor is thinking
Of some other thing

He stands at the door
With a hand on the knob
Ten minutes have passed
Time for the next job

He writes a quick script
As he ushers me out
Leaving me wondering
What our “talk” was about

I go up to some lady
And tap the glass hard
She opens it eventually
And hands me a card

With a time and a date
To come back again
And do the same thing
With the same hopeless man

Am I going crazy?
Should I really return?
To sit for more hours
And wait for my turn?

To be told the same thing
By the very same voice
Or do I have an option?
Is there any another choice?