You woke up this morn with a hole in your head;
A bedpan was under your hips;
A bouquet of IVs was stuck in each vein,
As slobber poured forth from your lips.
You haven't a clue how you got in this place;
Of your mind you've long been bereft,
Your name, once familiar, escapes you just now,
But take heart; we'll work with what's left
You say you sipping some tea in L.A.;
That's odd, 'cuz they found you up here,
Wand'ring the tundra with nary a coat,
But we'll sort it out, don't you fear
You say you remember a jazz band that irked you
And a strange little purse made of skin
And an odd little key, with a stamp, made of brass,
That you found lying somewhere within
There there, little lady, you've had a rough day,
Don't bother us so with that sighing,
That bone-chilling feeling you've had all month long
Is just from those drugs we've been trying
So work with us child, we know what we're doing
We're physicians; of that be assured
If there's anything left in that gourd on your shoulders.
We'll find it and you will be cured.....
Causes Eric Nichols Supports
Free Burma Rangers, Partners Ministries (Thailand), Literacy council of Alaska, Access Alaska.