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...)

Do they even cure you?

Or is it just to humor us before we die?

Let's redefine