Accidents Are on Purpose
I'm not sure what's worse
The waiting or the waiting room
And, You're next sir, becomes a cruel taunt to you
Recycled air, the smell of sleep and disinfectant
Your God is a two door elevator
Do they even cure you
(Cut me open drug me)
Or is it just to humor us before we die
If only we could heal ourselves
(Whoa whoa whoa)
We wouldn't need to be hooked up to these machines
(Whoa whoa whoa)
Whoa whoa whoa
Do they even cure you
Or is it just to humor us before we die
Whoa whoa whoa
Let's redefine
Whoa whoa whoa