wrapped my arms around you/ it's the sweet touch of
metal/ that allows you to breathe
and as they rush to save you/ I find myself
peacefully asleep
they call it "a slight chemical unbalance"/ I call it the need to/ live
isn't it beautiful? the way we bend truth/ and make it
serve us/ when we need it the most
it's the quiet Sunday morning/ that staggers like a
ghost/ and we find God, dearest/ and we walk through
walls/ godly skills these doctors impose/ and love is in the air/ smiling from above
scalpel wide/ the sign of your cross
do welcome the caress/ of surgical gloves/ do welcome the needle/ & the drugs