1. The old asylum halls, have stood so long and tall, the stories that they tell, the memories to me call.

2. The ancient towers white, these old wide hallways bright, you look out o'er the bay, you cast iron windows bayed.

3. The ancient paneled doors, the ancient pine wood floors, you transoms full of glass, you hardware cast in brass.

4. Oh, bricks made from the loam, you did provide a home, for these one hundred years, they'd found a refuge here.

5. The towers and trees and hills, point to the one who will, through simple faith now save, from deaths' power and the grave.

6. Now after all these years, the buildings shedding tears, for changes made and yes, the broken paint and glass.

7. Now my asylum friend, please heed the words herein, that restoration be, for the buildings and for thee.