Patient - Peter Hammill

A system in the making

Self-healing for the blind

Sitting in the waiting-room

Of the patient mind;

Raging at the illness

When the rage may be its cause

The purpose of the will is lost

In the search for an escape clause

In the search for an escape clause

Fatal convalescence

The wound becomes a weal;

The poison is in essence just

The virus of the real

But there’s sympathetic healing

The power of the soul bandages

Concealing all that we can’t control

All that we can’t control

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

A system in the making

Self-healing for the blind

Sitting in the waiting-room

Of the patient mind…

But there isn’t any answer

The consciousness can quote

When the loaded dice of chance are there

Rattling in the throat

Rattling in the throat

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

Waiting for the doctor to come

You put your faith in others;

The fear could not be worse

But Nature’s not your mother now

Just your suckling nurse

There isn’t any doctor

There isn’t any cure…

That might come as a shock to you

But can you really be so sure?

Can you really be so sure?

Can you really be sure?