its last call at the hospital, you slept through it all. and these four walls warn you that your surgery it might not be the key to fix your memory of you and me.
doctor, i dont know what ive done. theres more to this than my ex-love and my ex-limbs could - in my life - begin to explain. everytime i think of her and what went on that night, i dont see it instead i hear it....a song so awful and yet so perfect.
doctor, i dont know what im going to do. i need this song to be shouted out and to be heard by everyone. its like each word and every chord refuses to be ignored. this is bigger than me, but with no hands (and even less skill) i dont know how it will ever come out.
doctor, i think its her i hear.....its always been. if this pain can be arranged in such a way to bring out beauty, than who am i to stop it? ill bring her back and i wont stop until its done....until this nightmares undone. i need her....i need this. the saddest songs can sing themselves - we just sing along. so, if thats the answer, the questions the trigger, and im just the firing pin. im just a messenger doomed to detonate on delivery.