17th Street Treatment Centre

On the twenty-first day, the sun didn't hate me
The food wasn't angry, the bed didn't sigh
The ceiling said it's possible I might get my looks back
On the twenty-first day of my stay here
On the twenty-first day, I danced to the twelve-step
Examined, admitted I'm powerless too
Sang the one about the spring the cat ran away
On the twenty-first day of my court-ordered stay here

The punk and the priest and the real estate agent
The girl with no teeth and the shaking Marine
The Serbian Deadhead who wears his sunglasses
So no one can see at my eyes
In for three weeks or in for forever
Here at the 17th Street Treatment Centre
Most of us probably not getting better
But not getting better together