The Artist In The Ambulance - Thrice

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 an 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 gonna 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