In wounded times and bloodied plains,
starting crimes and hurt disdains,
memory stirs and hurts to dwell,... See More
stealing the healing in private hell,

like the mandolin neatly tuned,
a funny request made of the wound,
to hurry up and make the scar,
find the truth in someplace far,

always those who not tasted it's pain,
sing the medicos blooded refrain,
it has healed but it's scar reminded,
for the minds eye is never blinded