I'm confused by the sounds, I think it's a bell.
I'm reaching for help as I wander through hell.
I can see, I can see! I think I'm still me!
That man in the jacket has set my mind free!
He gave me a ball, I remembered the game.
I passed it right back, (I don't know his name).
I've seen him before and he seems to know me,
I'm sure he's the one who makes cups of tea.
But now I am lost in the noise and the fuss.
I need to get home, I must get on the bus.
She's pushing me down on a dining room chair,
but all I can do is stand still and stare.
Why am I here? I live just down the street,
and will you shut up! I don't want to eat.
Oh, someone please help me, I seem to be lost.
My memories are locked in a glacial frost.
I'm getting quite tired, I might have to rest.
I'll sit down right here, that seems to be best.
But why is a nurse saying I have to go?
She pulls at my pants and I shout and say no!
And then he is back, the man with the ball,
he kicks it to me and it rolls down the hall.
I remember the thrill. I remember the chase.
I forget that I'm trapped in this demonic place.
We laugh and we scuffle, we chase the ball round.
I had thought I was lost, but I have been found.
And just for a minute I was wearing the shirt,
and playing the game and forgetting the hurt.
I was back on the field and part of the team.
The memories flood back like a bittersweet dream.
I shoot for the goal, hear the roar of the crowd,
and no one has said that it wasn't allowed.
And then he is gone, but the feelings remain.
The glory of warmth after years of cold rain.
We all need the one who looks for our spark,
who searches and leads us away from the dark.
Please consider the man and remember the ball.
Don't let dementia make you feel small.
That one fleeting glimpse of the number ten shirt
can sometimes deflect the pain and the hurt.