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.