#56: Pre-Ambulatorn Without No Warn (Psychosomatics)

You'd Think The Rooms Ought To Adjoin,
That Is, At Least, For All The Coin
They're Finding Ways To Pry 'N' Purloin,
While Tuning Up Your Chords . . .
But It Feels More Like A Trip To Des Moines,
From The Carving Knives Of The Tenderloin,
To Where They Kick Your Psychic Groin,
Below The Belt Of The Mental Wards.

There's no use trying to describe the halls
through which the gurney flew . . .
I was blinded when they grabbed my balls,
and told me to ah-chu!