Living with dementia is like riding on a carousel.
I said dementia is like a big old carousel.
And you canít get off, though it turns into a hotel.
Year after year they reserve you the same place.
Year after year they save you the same old place.
They forget your name, but they never forget a face.
Whoís going to visit you? Donít expect your friends.
No use getting up for visits from your friends.
It goes on this way and who knows how it ends?
Well, you sit there, baby, and you donít say a word.
Yup, there you sit, not saying a single word.
Or if you did, I guess I never heard.
Sometimes I wonder whatís going through your head.
Yes, who knows what is cooking in your head?
No one gets to look in there till you are dead.
Iíd like to cry, but I have no more tears.
I said Iím done crying, Iíve run out of tears.
Before and now and after, years and years.