Waiting room

To day is the day, they all know.
Clicking heels up and down the halls
Angels pass by and crack half of a smile
Is my turn? Is that my file?

Started on a summers day, drew it in and blew it away
It bit my need, and came to stay.

Smiling faces pass me by, broken arms and bleeding knees
Slings and other things, but that's not me.
I sit here thinking of the worst, has the Grim Reaper started
His hearse, and will he drive it slow along the agonising
Road of pain, does he hold the wreath with my name?

Will he soon knock on my at door
Or just creep in, when I am not looking.
Or beckon me with his eyes,
Or hold out his bony hand
What ever I will understand.

My name rings out, they are calling,
They sit me in the telling chair,
There's no hope
When you are sitting there.