Cure my ails

Book 1 Page 3

Cure my ails

I went to the doctor to cure my ails,

He put a stethoscope on my chest and said, “Breathe in, / exhale.”

He said, “I think you’ve got some nasty bug”

and so proceeded to write me a cocktail of drugs.

I said, “Doctor! You haven’t listened to my ills,”

as he handed me pills.

The doctor had a particular way.

But this didn’t help me on this particular day.

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So I went to the psychologist to cure my ails,

but I didn’t get to tell my tail.

He kept twisting my words about “my childhood and past.”

He had an answer for everything it seemed that fitted a cast

I said, “What’s the past got to do with me now?”

And thought; he was making things worse somehow!

The psychologist had a particular way,

but this didn’t help me on this particular day.

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So I went to the priest to cure my ails.

He said, “Jesus died for you son, / on the cross he was nailed.”

I said, “What’s that got to do with me?”

He said, “salvation my son, to set your soul free.”

I said, “That’s not the reason I’ve come”

And though to myself; “he’s beating a drum.”

The priest had a particular way

but this didn’t help me on this particular day.

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So I went the Shaman to cure my ails.

He pulled out a crystal ball from under a veil.

I said. “What’s the future got to do with me now?”

He said, “The cures are in the great ‘supernatural.”’

I said, “I’m not interested in what the future holds!

you haven’t listened to a word you were told.”

The Shaman had a particular way

but this didn’t help me on this particular day.

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The doctor / the psychologist / the Shaman / the priest,

never helped me in the least.

They were all so absorbed with particular theories.

Nobody really bothered to make some queries.

Nobody bothered to listen to me.

Nobody responded, accordingly.

Nobody listened to what ‘I’ had to say,

so no one could help me on this particular day.