Grounded

Doctor's leaving for the holiday season
Got crystal ice picks, no gift for the gab
And in the parking lot, is the sedan he bought
He never, he never complains when it's hot

He foaled a swollen daughter in the sauna playing contract bridge
They're soaking up the fun or doing blotters I don't know which, which, which
Boys are dying on these streets

I know the medical world could knock you out
To sell the coins that you jayed last Thursday, hey
Dine by candlelight, and hold your savings tight
You never, you never know when the bridge falls apart

He spoke of latent causes, sterile gauzes, and the bedside morale
He traipse around the table talking sentences so incomplete, plete, plete
Boys are dying on these streets