A Tortured Life

I was born in 1956
and I couldn't talk or think ,

But found my feet on a Belfast street,\ skidding on a icy rink .

Suddenly early one morning the troubles came without warning and so I
left Belfast and became part of an emigrant link .

Hi-jacked by hard narcotics
way back in 1972,

My mind was warped and twisted
and I didn't know what I could do .

So I returned to Belfast town ,
where they took me in,
tied me down and zapped my brains until I was a person that nobody knew
.

Re-invented not demented ,
I went back to my Mum and Dad ,

Got a job and worked real hard
to regain the respect I once had .

Then just when I was on my feet ,
They threw me on the scrap yard heap,

Too old to work at 25 ,
I had to survive,
not get mad Admitted into Chelmsford in the late nineteen
seventies,

Where deep sleep therapy put people like me down upon our knees ,

Patients rights where forgot about.
Oh God I cried
please help me out ,
Then at Chelmsford a royal commission was ordered to seize .

My little sister was killed in a car crash back In 86 ,
I became homeless with a hurt nobody and nothing could fix .

Then in October 89 I returned back home for some time .
But after I was robbed In London with the homeless I was mixed .

In 1990 I made it to Ireland half dead on my feet,
Where I was attacked by a small group and beaten up on the
street.

Taken unconscious to a bed ,
Some people thought I was dead ,
But no,
again I talked and I walked
and forgave the wrongs instead .

At 47 I'm longing for heaven
and living in hell .
A tortured life is what I'm living .
God knows its the truth I tell .

By Paul McCann