The Lost Chord

They quickly label a body, you know,
they do, I'd a mishap and was labelled
incontinent, a big deal? No, although
I've a rubber sheet now, as hot as hell...

I was labelled long before admittance
just because I look old, frail and unfit
they got me down as agéd, a fat chance
now, of discharge, labelled decrepit...

Well, Mabel, it's the geriatric ward
they've trapped me in, seventh floor, the West wing,
I guess my room's gone now, the last or lost chord
of my life, that this cagéd bird will sing...

They've labelled me with terminal heart disease
But, I guess death after life, will be a breeze?