| Test, check. |
| Well, he’s been released again today, and I’m back where I started
|
| Looking over old notes, listening to tapes, wondering how bad I potentially
|
| messed up this time
|
| The wounds seem to be healing, and he seems to be getting along
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| Without his appendages
|
| And I know he seems fine, but 'seems' can be a very dangerous word,
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| especially in this business… it can be fatal
|
| Initial Diagnosis: Catatonic. |
| And I know he’s back there somewhere
|
| But there’s just no response whatsoever, to any kind of stimulus
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| We’ll start him with medication tomorrow, for sure
|
| This man’s tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body
|
| And it’s not just tragedy, it’s dementia, despair;
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| It’s this hole I can see in each of his eyes
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| Where all the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through
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| It’s loneliness in it’s most crippling form, the kind that no amount of love
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| Or human contact, could ever mend
|
| The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, terrible, deeply troubling dreams
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| Which one night overflowed in to reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep
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| These people were in love, deeply in love
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| And it was that love filling those holes that I can now see behind his eyes
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| And it’s my job to try and fill those holes with something else
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| But with what? |
| Hope? |
| I can try to fill those holes with drugs, soothing words,
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| but that’s all
|
| I hope his wounds will heal with time, but right now, things aren’t looking good
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| The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist
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| The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist
|
| The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist
|
| The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist
|
| The lines I wear around my wrist are there to prove that I exist
|
| The lines around my wrists, the infection seems to be getting better
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| It’s in the center of my torso, behind my eyes and in the back of my head
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| Something is eating me alive from the inside out
|
| Well that’s grief of your loss
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| Don’t tell me what it is |