In the waiting room of Neverland,
They call my name, but I don’t understand.
“Are you the patient or just passing by?”
“I’m not really sure, it depends on the sky.”

My fingers, my back, my heel’s got a pain,
They say it’s a trick of the mind or the brain.
"Here’s a pill for the ache you don’t feel,
And one for your soul, which is never quite real."

The nurse looks right through me, as if I’m not there,
“Next one, please!”—but the list is unfair.
Those who come after are somehow ahead,
And those up in front just sit...