[heer-oh]: A dispute over profits from this song led to a rift between Kroeger and Scott. Scott, in his band Saliva, included a lyric in one of the bands songs that insults Nickelback because of it.

 

The House That God Has Forgotten part 37: Watching them all fly away

We don’t walk into burning buildings with our oxygen masks on. Running quickly up the stairs of the World Trade Center and perishing under the falling debris.

We do not walk around with guns on our sides, driving cars with lights on top of them. Feeling the stones getting thrown at them as they drive into special neighbourhoods.

We do not push up and down on the chests of hearts that are not beating anymore as the bus drives up and down through traffic.

We are the lost ones. The ones that lived in a closed world. The world that holds the guy that planned to explode something, the man who sets peoples houses on fire, the kid throwing the stones that has now robbed a kiosk in another neighbourhood, and we are the ones that have to push up and down on the chest of someone found lying in their cell in the middle of the night.

We are the warriors in blue that no one talks about, and are abandoned between walls and fluorescent lighting.

Fists fly on the promenade of the inmates. The spit from their mouth comes flying so hard that you can see it as you look above from the 12th floor. You stand there and are helpless.

People of all ages, shapes and sizes run up a spiral staircase not knowing what is happening as they gasp for breath.

They are expected to walk into the abyss of wrong, and make it right again.

Prisoners up against the wall. Prisoners moving up and down the elevator, and the ones waiting below have no idea what is happening, or will for that matter.

This is what life is like behind those closed four walls.

Standing in a gymnasium and watching blood flow. You are two against 12 and have no way out of that locked room. You worry that they are coming after you.

“He is 21 years old.” you think to yourself “How is he going to be there for me?”

You push your alarm one time, two times, three times and four. You are alone. Picturing your life in front of your eyes.

This is what life is like behind those closed four walls.

He was the silent one. You never heard much about him, and he never gave you a hard time. You slowly press your tag against the lock and open the metal handle that clicks. You dream of that clicking sound of that door when you started, now it is just something that is background noise like a pause between songs on a playlist.

Foot on the door because that was how you were taught. You are so damaged that you open the door to your apartment or house the same way. Key in the slot, foot on the door. You even check your door 20 times before you leave.

It is one of the things people on the outside of those four walls would never understand.

You open the door and find him on the floor trying to get to the call button. He lies motionless as you scream for help. Everything goes in slow motion and you look at his body lying there paralysed on the floor.

They push the alarm and you push on his chest, counting the numbers in a slow and light breath…one..two…three…four…

It takes a long time for an ambulance to come up to where you are. At least 20 minutes.

All you can do is stare at his eyes as you take turns pushing on his lifeless chest.

He was 18 years old. His whole life was in front of him.

This is what life is like behind those four closed walls.

He is desperate. He does not want to go home, and has nothing left to loose. Bureaucracy and slow processes between immigrations and embassies make time stand still. He sits in his cell and yells and screams at the top of his lungs, he pushes the call button to yell even more.

He does not get enough attention, so he starts throwing food. He breaks a TV, he starts to pee on the wall.

He lands on the 5th floor, a room with a mattress and a horse blanket. He does not give up, it makes him fight harder. He starts to paint the walls with his shit. It hangs from the door, it smells like a toilet.

He has to get his food everyday. He has his right to a promenade.

It is you that has to search them, feed them and try to convince them that they should take a shower and move to a new cell.

The sanitation firm opens the room to the door and as you see the shit mixed with the urine dripping, you hold your breath and try not to run down the corridor gasping for air.

This is what life is like behind those four closed walls.

Prisoners taking over a floor. Tables turned over and food on the floor. Two of your own are trapped there and there is nothing you can do. All you can do is wait.

Telephones ring, and people run to put their black suits on. There is not much time. They do not have the luxury to talk now, they can only hurry and then wait. They check each others gear, their voices as muffled and their bodies are full of adrenaline not knowing what to expect.

“This is what you have trained for.” the voice says in the background.

In this line of business, you have to trust the man standing next to you.

 

Negotiators get called in and the talking begins.

You wait behind with your comrades and finally discuss what you are going to do.

The door opens and you run in with your shields and bodies and rescue your comrades.

There are no police welcome here to keep us safe. Just each other, even at the worst of times.

This is what life is like behind those four closed walls.

You are a guard in the middle of the night as the cool air blows outside. It is silent inside the prison. No one says a word at night, it is not like jail.

You talk to the guards here, you are a traitor.

A prisoner says earlier that the inmates have keys and run around in the cool night air.

No one listens to his words. They fall on deaf ears.

She walks in and gets a gun pointed to her head. She is a hostage, unable to move where she wants, not allowed to scream for help in the cool night.

They do not notice her missing until they try to leave out the front door. Instead of taking her with them, they have a change of heart and leave her behind.

This is what life is like behind those four closed walls.

She went to work in the morning and did not have anything special on her mind as she stepped of the commuter train. She went up the stairs and was there to meet the inmates to go up to promenade.

Things were going as they should. She would open the door they would go in. She would lock the door.

She met the man at the elevator. Thoughts became mumbles: “Hey isn’t he supposed to have two people meet him at that elevator?”

She did not know. She was just doing her job for the day.

A swift to the back of her head while unlocking the door and she fell to the floor. Fists struck her body as it moved up and down off the floor from the velocity of his power.

Another woman, she stood on a platform and pushed the alarm. She ran down with an old white rubber baton and tried to fight him off.

A strike to the leg and he got a hold of it. She ran up the stairs and did the only thing she could.

Watch as her colleague got beaten to death.

As they ran up the stairs he laid on the floor. It took less than two minutes after she pushed the alarm. Never saying a word, never explaining why. Those secrets he keeps to himself.

This is what life is like behind those four closed walls.

Same day. Four people ride a taxicab not knowing where they are going. Today is not the day they are thinking about nothing.

The read on the internet about where they are going. No one bothered to tell them earlier before they got into the cab.

In shock they pull up to the building and run inside. People crying, a person dying.

Press conferences blast on the television saying she was not alone when she met that man, but she is the only one that is gone.

Blood on the floor they watch in slow motion as tears stream down faces. If they knew her or not, the people that worked in that building with her would never be the same again.

The people in the taxicab would never be the same again.

This is what life is like behind those four closed doors.

Now we watch as the heroes fly away. One become two and two become four. We open the doors and do not see their faces anymore, just ghosts of a time before. We want them to save us, but they will never take that path again.

The House That God Has Forgotten has driven them away, and we are left dreaming of catching them while standing on the roof of those four closed walls, and hoping that they never forget us, because I at least will never forget not only those from The House That God Has Forgotten, but all the warriors in blue.

 

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