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I'm lying here in bed with a
nametag on my wrist,
trying to enjoy this tranquilizer but it's giving me a bad trip.
Unable to be aware, to see the atare of my,
of my whitecoated(?).
Never
getting up, never lifting a funger.
Simon says:get up and walk blindfolded.
Never getting up, never lifting a finger.
Get up and walk blindfolded.
Orthopedics
and anaesthesia.
Few candidates and a bachground symphony.
Drilling bones and curring nerves just take the whole arm it's easier.
You don't care about my dreams.
When it
finally kicks in and all the lights go dim,
it's just one, two, three and it's washing over me.
Unable to be aware.
Unable to feel the cold steel.
Will I wake up?
Would it matter if this was about you?
Your
feelings are sterilized and your thoughts are black and white.
Give me the scalpel from now on I cut my own scars, stitch my own arms.
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