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