Infirmary

Armless, hopeless, homeless people
Neatly canned and set in stacks,
Left by chance and circumstance,
Strangle the flame of public eye
And rot away until they die.
Left alone in dreadful awful mournful silence,
Their brains half splattered,
And bodies battered,
They climb their ladders and waste away.
To us, it matters little what little they say
With mouths sewn shut and eyes patched up
The legless, crutchless, wretched wretches
Suffer much, and know true pain,
But carry on in broken ways
To prove the truth that is quite plain:
Those in life that live in vain
Are those who sit and just complain.