The place used to be a geriatric facility Including those that slip out without farewell The joint is full of ghosts This new reincarnated resident Could be a skinhead Amish construction worker Turns out he's a wise reformed Muslim finding peace Still a bit miffed they won't restock chocolate milk Shares in group his old way Where he'd crack a yoo-hoo bottle Over someone's head I've gone as far as I want to so far In sharing Never judge a book by it's cover Trust - willing to step out of my comfort zone At the end of the day Our skin is our uniform Don't mistake boredom for peace Or kindness for weakness Hold our secrets like cards At the Spade's table All silently wanting to scream The honesty we need In all aspects of recovery Get told what I already know Over think too much That's how I lost my game Kirk says I'm an old soul From the 1920s Always wanted to be a bootlegger In that era They all ended up in jail he says Nah, look at the Kennedy's! Or the (((Bronfmans))) Who moved onto opiates (No wait, that's the Sacklers) And most likely human trafficking Wonder who profits off the Suboxones That are even harder to kick Welcome a middle aged woman Named Pam - Looks like Pam If she would have made it to that age Childhood friend - Prom date Swept away in a flood With her children God bless the ghosts Whether friends or foes That followed us here I may not come clean But I won't fade away With an Irish Goodbye