A system in the making
Self-healing for the blind
Sitting in the waiting-room
Of the patient mind;
Raging at the illness
When the rage may be its cause
The purpose of the will is lost
In the search for an escape clause
In the search for an escape clause
Fatal convalescence
The wound becomes a weal;
The poison is in essence just
The virus of the real
But there's sympathetic healing
The power of the soul bandages
Concealing all that we can't control
All that we can't control
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
A system in the making
Self-healing for the blind
Sitting in the waiting-room
Of the patient mind...
But there isn't any answer
The consciousness can quote
When the loaded dice of chance are there
Rattling in the throat
Rattling in the throat
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
Waiting for the doctor to come
You put your faith in others;
The fear could not be worse
But Nature's not your mother now
Just your s**ling nurse
There isn't any doctor
There isn't any cure...
That might come as a shock to you
But can you really be so sure?
Can you really be so sure?
Can you really be sure?