We leave for those who were trapped   As the culture collapsed   These identity tokens so that perhaps   You remember that our ideals were simple and eternal   They're locked inside these mysterious crystals   We, the pregnant, the sick and insane   We leave you these things, you remember our name      A basket was hung at the gate   The mother put the baby in and then she would wait   The questions were to be asked   About the parentage, the lineage, and the immediate past   She waited to hear if her baby would be   Returned for disease or at once be received   We, the pregnant, the sick and insane   We leave you these things, you remember our name      We leave three or four tarnished padlocks   A playing card, the ace of hearts, a gold pocket watch   A piece of brass shaped like the moon   A magnifying glass, a miniature spoon   What were we thinking or hoping for   When leaving such things at the hospital door?   A fine piece of ribbon, a cruel separation   A vague intimation of a higher-born station   Your mother was neither a saint nor a whore   Here's a taunting reminder that you were born poor      We leave for those who were trapped   As the culture collapsed   These identity tokens so that perhaps   You remember that our ideals are simple and eternal   They're locked inside these mysterious crystals   We, the pregnant, the sick and insane   We leave you these things, you remember our name