We leave for those who were trappednAs the culture collapsednThese identity tokens so that perhapsnYou remember that our ideals were simple and eternalnThey're locked inside these mysterious crystalsnThe weak, the pregnant, the sick and insanenWe leave you these things, you remember our namennA basket was hung at the gatenThe mother put the baby in and then she would waitnThe questions were to be askednAbout the parentage, the lineage, and the immediate pastnShe waited to hear if her baby would benReturned for these reasons or at once be receivednThe weak, the pregnant, the sick and insanenWe leave you these things, you remember our namennWe leave three or four tarnished padlocksnA playing card, the ace of hearts, a gold pocket watchnA piece of brass shaped like the moonnA magnifying glass, a miniature spoonnWhat were we thinking or hoping fornWhen leaving such things at the hospital door?nA fine piece of ribbon, a cruel separationnA vague intimation of a higher-born stationnYour mother was neither a saint nor a whorenHere's a taunting reminder that you were born poornnWe leave for those who were trappednAs the culture collapsednThese identity tokens so that perhapsnYou remember that our ideals are simple and eternalnThey're locked inside these mysterious crystalsnThe weak, the pregnant, the sick and insanenWe leave you these things, you remember our name