Hurt or injured

There’s a question I ask

when I see him fall

Something that separates

me from them all.

“Is he hurt or injured?”

I ask myself

and the answer I give

is a guide to my help.

 

If he’s hurt, he’s ok, though a little bruised up

Some tears and a Band-Aid

And he cheers right up

So I won’t jump in

and make a show of it all

I hang right back

and let him make the call.

His life’s not in danger,

so some space he will get

To think his things over

and choose his upset.

 

If he’s injured, he’s down and out for the count

And I’ll come a running, and probably shout,

“HOLY SHIT, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?”

Then roar to the truck and throw open the door.

The hospital knows when they see us there,

to jump us to the front of line up in chairs.

And call for a doctor and at least one nurse

And to start making arrangements for some kind of hearse.

 

Life is tough and you’re going to lose

if you get hurt and need to stop for a bruise.

And you’ll also lose out on life if you wait

when you’re injured and pounding on Heaven’s gate.