Alvin’s poem about self-injury reminded me of this lyric.
I’m a walking wounded, injured in the war
I’m weak and weary, though it happened long before
The bullet’s buried and it’s working farther in
I’ve learned to live with it — to ignore the sudden pain
I’ve learned to laught at it — it was that, or go insane
But that does not mean I’m ready for
My life to stay this way
Surgeon won’t you heal me
I don’t care what you have to cut away
I would rather roll out of here in a wheelchair
Than continue dying more each day
The decision’s a beginning
And I know I may not live to see the end
But it’s high time I put away my sinning
Gave this broken body room to mend
Counting backwards now from ten
You might not know by looking just how deep it goes
I don’t walk with a limp, and there are no scars that show
But one good X-Ray proves I’m all torn up inside
I used to feel like I was different in a crowd
Each one holds back, afraid to speak the truth out loud
‘Til by a word or gesture they reveal to me
That they’ve been wounded too
Surgeon won’t you heal me
I don’t care what you have to cut away
I would rather roll out of here in a wheelchair
Than continue dying more each day
The decision’s a beginning
And I know I may not live to see the end
But it’s high time I put away my sinning
Gave this broken body room to mend
Counting backwards now from ten
Counting backwards now from
Counting backwards now
Actually, my poem wasn’t about self injury. It was a metaphor. :)
But I guess a metaphor is in the ear of the behearer.
I always liked this song. I guess you’re the walking dead man now, eh? But maybe God isn’t finished with you. He doesn’t have to be if he doesn’t want to. :)
I understood that your poem was about metaphorical self-injury. As is my lyric. I don’t have an actual bullet lodged in me :)
I’m as alive — and as wounded — as I was when I wrote this song. My guess is that God isn’t finished with me. I’m certainly not finished with him. He has some serious esplaining to do.
Be careful what you ask for!