I step into the whitewashed room
She goes on staring straight ahead.
She's crouching quietly in a corner
I sit down, trembling, on the bed.

'Mum?' I whisper, heart still pounding.
She frowns as she looks up at me.
Her eyes are fixed upon my face now
But I know she doesn't see.

Her skin is pale, a deathly white.
She hasn't been outside for years.
I see the bite marks on her arms.
I fight hard to hold back my tears.

I want to scream. Why can't she smile?
And hold me like a mother should?
I want to hug her, say I love her
But I know that it's no good.

She's bored with me, she turns away.
What she's thinking, I can't know.
Then I hear a voice behind me;
'Come on Neville, time to go.'