My name is Dean Emit, victim of a serious mistake
Diagnosed as clinically insane
Sectioned, imprisoned and detained
The last thing I remember I was being physically restrained
First sensed something was amiss
Noticing the other inmates had cuts across their wrists
My trust in the nurses hesitated
Instantly ceased taking medication [Waiting
They segregated selective mental patients
I once caught a glimpse of the room where they’d take them
Reasons why remain undisclosed
A hundred volts straight to the victim’s frontal lobes
Disguised as medical tests
Vulnerable people were being sentenced to death
[This is beyond madness
Spent night and day racking my brain
Insomniac, but I had no solid plan
One day in group therapy, eventually lost my rag
[Is this some kind of sick joke?
Next thing I knew, a doctor pushed me straight through a window
Awoke later in my bed, as my mind cleared
A pain in my side sparking the idea
Tied up without side effects
Shook loose the undetected shard of glass from behind my vest
Heart pounding inside my chest
Managed to slice my restraints, fell down beside my bed
Stood up, pulled off the ceiling’s iron mesh
Climbed the winding vent entangled in spider webs
Exited down a flight of steps
Ditched my hospital gown so the dogs won’t find the scent
Felt the cold wind on my face
Blinded by the moonlight, my mental prison escape
His name was Doctor Emit institutionalised
For committing the most unusual crimes
Torturing patients numerous times
‘Till one escaped, brought the truth to the light
Losing his mind but kept it top secret
Unnecessary methods of shock treatment
No waiting list kept going till the power died
Or the patient did, which ever came first
He was a slave to his hunger within
Tied them up sewed razors under their skin
Eyes void of emotion
When asked why he did it, he just said the voices had spoken
Insane, locked in a cell
Dementia in control of all knowledge of self
Day to day he’d yell about the crimes
Like he didn’t do them and they’re still taking place
Swimming in the depths of depression
Volatile, living on the edge of aggression
Never did get a confession
(Flipped out) during a routine group therapy session
When asked “are you scared of the past?”
He jumped up by the window put his chair through the glass
Demented look in his face
Guards took him away put him to bed fully restrained
Didn’t bother drugging him up
The next morning they walked in and saw him covered in blood
Should’ve known from behaviour patterns
That this was a suicide waiting to happen
Life he came to hate with a passion
Shard to the wrist, fatal attraction
Examining the evil deed
There it was on the floor the jagged killer that didn’t flee the scene
Broken Window
Window to the soul, broken
Now his ghost is out in the open