About
My name is Michael.
Nope, you can't have me.
[The Artist In the Ambulance;]
Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal.
Red light, can't 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.
I'm left here with the question of just.
What have I to show except the promises I never kept?
I lie here shaking on this bed, under the weight of my regrets.
I hope that I will never let you down.
I know that this can be more than just flashing lights and sound.
Look around and you'll see that at times it feels like no one really cares.
It gets me down but I'm still going to try to do what's right, I know that there's.
A difference between sleight of hand, and giving everything you have.
There's a line drawn in the sand, I'm working up the will to cross it and.
Rhetoric can't raise the dead.
I'm sick of always talking when there's no change.
Rhetoric can't raise the dead.
I'm sick of empty words, let's lead and not follow.
Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal.
Red light, can't 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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