Molly's sitting on her bed
It's Sunday afternoon
Radio's playing outside
TV bleeds from the next roomAntiseptic in the air
Nurses laughing down the hall
Crooked feet in crooked shoes
Her wooden cane against the wallIt's Sunday but her Sunday clothes
Are packed away somewhere
She doesn't need them anymore
Nothing to look her best forI'm thirteen, I'm with my mother
She doesn't know my name
I remind her I'm Lucy
But she looks at me the sameLike I'm a stranger she should remember
From a place she can't return
We've only just walked in
She says we've stayed too long
Too proud to be remembered
As a mother without a homeOh, it's time to go
Oh, it's time to go
It's a dirty trick
This growing oldWe walk the halls anyway
My mother holds her arm
She's pleading with us to leave
So we walk her to her roomAnd we drive through the old neighborhood
The grand homes of the South Side
So many are abandoned now
So many lifetimes locked insideAnd at the dinner table
It's my parents and me
I sneak looks at the two of them
To see what they need from meAnd later she calls me over
Where she sits alone
She's polishing a silver ring
I've never seen beforeShe says this was Molly's
It was her mother's ring
I'm keeping it for you
As she kept it for meOh, it's time to go
Oh, it's time to go
It's a dirty trick
This growing oldI'm told Molly was so proud to have
Another baby girl
Her only granddaughter
But I don't rememberThis is what I remember