Field Medic

I know bullets will stop me
But frankly I don’t care
Because when they’ll be screaming 
I have to be right there

I know that I’m not invincible
That I can surely die
I know that I can’t save them all
But I just have to try

I know that those bullets
They’ll cut right in my flesh and skin
They won’t hold before the barrier
Of my everlasting sin

They won’t care for those I saved
They won’t turn a second eye 
They’ll only care about this everlasting
Sweet and rotten lie

No one really understands 
The impact of what I see
The choices I have to make 
Of which I eventually flee

My life it’s not worth the risk
But theirs is what I protect 
And even though my halo’s broken
My wings shattered and wrecked

I’ll always stand guard 
For when the evil takes a bite
Even though I’m a medic
You can be damn sure I’ll fight

French soldier of the 147th RIF (Fortress Infantry Regiment) having a tourniquet following a leg injury, May 14th, 1940. Photograph by Gaëliger Klair

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