Time slips by so slow,
I sit in this room with no window,
Nothing to look at to soften my eyes,
That indeed would then soften my heart,
The four same voices echoing from wall to wall,
It really means nothing to the hearts of us all,
Toes are tapping,
Fingers are rapping,
Colors that usually dance before my eyes,
Are a clever and cunning disguise,
For a place that could not be more dull,
Even if conversation were to lull,
The occasional rattle of a restless chair,
A sigh of nothing floats on cold air,
I don't know that I can endure,
This in the future if it is to occur.
