Waiting in line,npassing the time reading four month old magazines.nThe pale walls given life by the florescent lights,nexposing stains in the carpeting.nnAnd sitting at my side this mockery of life:na plastic plant strictly for tasteless decor.nNo one makes a soundnbut the sirens seeping through the space between the door and the floor.nnWell there's nothing left to say.nThe word's just collapse intoncolorful waves in the spectrum of soundnand it's easy on the earsnand it's nice to hearnbut it doesn't mean a thing.nNo it doesn't mean a thing.nnThe silence breaksnlike a small earthquake shattering the calm - it's my name.nThe familiar scent of sterile instrumentsnfilters out from inside the hallway.nnYour chin falls towards your lap, you know you can't come backnJust one more thing to make this a little bit harder.nYou'll wait for the turn out.nUntil then a sense of doubt hangs in the air like grief in a funeral parlor.nnWell there's nothing left to say.nThe word's just collapse intoncolorful waves in the spectrum of soundnand it's easy on the earsnand it's nice to hearnbut it doesn't mean a thing.nNo it doesn't mean,nNo it doesn't mean,nNo it doesn't mean a thing.nnSo tell me I'm okay with no areas of gray.nTell me I can go, just don't say you don't know,nbecause there's nothing I can't take like these areas of gray,nso tell me I'm okay.