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Thrice

Artist In The Ambulance

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Lyrische gedicht

Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal
red light, cant stop so I spin the wheel
my world goes black before I feel an angel lift me up
and I open bloodshot eyes into fluorescent white
they flip the siren, hit the lights, close the doors and I am gone.
Now I lay here owing my life to a stranger
and I realize that empty words are not enough
Im left here with the question of just
what have I to show except the promise I never kept?
I lie here shaking on this bed, under the weight of my regrets.
I hope that this can be more than just flashing lights and sound
Look around and youll see that a times it feels like no one really cares
it gets me down but Im still gonna try to do whats right, I know that theres
a difference between sleight of hand, and giving everything you have
theres a line drawn in the sand, Im working up the will to cross it.
rhetoric cant raise the dead
Im sick of always talking when theres no change
Im sick of empty words, lets lead and not follow
Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal
red light, cant stop so I spin the wheel
my world goes black before I feel an angel steal me from the
greedy jaws of death and chance, and pull me in with steady hands
they've given me a second chance, the artist in the ambulance
can we pick you off the ground; more than flashing lights and sound

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