A Moment's Worth The Surgeon
I’ll cut deeper into you with each careful incision.
I’ll cut away the tissue and excess pieces of you.
I’ve taken up medicine and I’ve forgotten what a full night of sleep means just to bring back what I can’t, just to find out that I’m cutting at the surface.
And still I hold my head up high and tell myself I’ll fix you.
I close my eyes and turn my head away from what’s left of you.
I will not let go until I’m sure that you are…
(As we breathe our lives away, we hold on to what we feel we can’t replace.)
There’s no excuse because this life is in my hands. Though shaking helplessly, they must cut with precision.
I hear “it’s useless” whispered many times inside my head.
There’s no excuses—I’m responsible, not them.
As we breathe our lives away, we hold on to what we feel we can’t replace.
As we breathe our lives away, as we breathe away.
Just breathe in one more time.
I swear that I could save your life.
And still I hold my head up high and tell myself I’ll fix you.
I close my eyes and turn my head away from what’s left of you.
I will not let go until I’m sure that you are dead.
As I breathe my life away, I hold on to you.
