Every Breath Is A Bomb
The Blood Brothers Lyrics

Fake fake flowers
The flowers in this room are not real, they are just imitation.

Fake funeral
This room feels like a funeral, but it's all an act, fake and artificial.

This room is a fluorescent tomb:
Despite the brightness of the fluorescent lighting, this room is like a tomb, representing death and finality.

It's brazen bulbs mimic death's hyena croon.
The lighting in the room is like death's laugh, cold and mocking.

He pulls on her wires, she jerks to attention,
The medical equipment is keeping the patient alive, but it is also a form of control and manipulation.

She's animated again, she's talking to a hypodermic reflection.
The patient is making small talk with the reflection of a syringe, highlighting the surrealness of the situation.

We've watched it all from the window ledge...
The singers are outsiders watching all of this unfold from a distance, unable to help or intervene.

The nurses offer their condolences...
The medical staff are doing what they can, but ultimately they are unable to alter the course of events.

Tongues flapping I can't make out your tone,
The artists are unable to comprehend the medical jargon and information being shared with them, causing confusion and frustration.

Our hearts beat in slow motion.
The stress and gravity of the situation causes the artists' hearts to feel as though they are beating in slow motion.

If we make it to the final scene...(fake flowers!)
Despite the artificiality of the flowers, the singers hope to experience a peaceful and natural ending to this situation.

Show me the sapphire pit (fake tomb)
The artists want to see something real, even if it is dark and depressing.

Peel the candy crust off my body (fake flowers)
The singers want to shed the superficial and sweet exterior of their situation, revealing the harsh reality instead.

Throw in the brittle skeleton...(fake tomb)
The singers want to confront the fragility of life and the inevitability of death, even if it's not in a genuine way.

Can you inject love's tender touch back into the gang bang?
The singers are lamenting the brutality and lovelessness of life, asking if it is possible to bring back compassion and tenderness.

Can you knit the stiletto back to the bloodstain?
The artists are questioning if it is possible to undo the violent and painful moments in life, to make wounds heal and scars disappear.

Can you put the bite back the the beast you've broken, tied and tamed?
The artists are wondering if it is possible to reverse the course of events, to make wild and dangerous things return to their former state, free and untamed.

Can you crease the wrinkles back into the cracked and open brain?
The singers are questioning if it is possible to undo the damage done to the mind, to heal and restore it to its previous state of wholeness.

So doctor won't you pull the fucking plug?
The singers are pleading with the doctor to stop the pain and suffering, to end the situation through drastic action.

Won't you cut the cord?
The artists want the doctor to sever the lifeline and bring an end to the situation, no matter how difficult it may be.

Because you can't put the life back into this hospital ward.
The artists recognize that there is no way to undo what has been done, to bring back what has been lost, and to resurrect what has died.

She's gonna make it out ok...
Despite the difficulties and the hardships, the artists have faith that things will turn out all right in the end.

But she's shaking like a revolution...
Even in the face of hope, there is still underlying fear and anxiety, like a seismic shift waiting to happen.

And she stares at the fire all day...
The patient is lost in thought, pondering the situation and trying to find meaning and purpose in it all.

Mumbling to herself...
The patient is trying to make sense of what is happening and struggling to communicate her thoughts and feelings.

Every hole has a snake in it...
The world is full of hidden dangers and traps, lurking beneath even the most innocuous surface.

Every crotch is a siamese gun,
Even the most private and intimate parts of ourselves can be weaponized, used against us or others.

Every ray of sunshine hides a cancerous chime,
Even things that seem innocent and pleasant can hold hidden danger and destruction, like a sweet song with a poisonous message.

Every breath is a bomb.
Life is fleeting and temporary, like an explosive that could go off at any moment, forcing us to be constantly on guard and never complacent.

I'd like to wrap my arms around you like a flesh canopy.
The singers want to offer comfort and protection, to envelop the other person in a sense of safety and security.

I'd like to take your head, Place it somewhere between my shoulders and neck,
The singers want to provide a physical space for the other person to rest and find solace, to offer a literal and metaphorical shoulder to lean on.

But I'm afraid your brittle bones would break.
The artists recognize the fragility of the other person's state, and are afraid of causing harm or making things worse.

We can hear the black orchestra singing...
There is an overwhelming sense of doom and darkness, with a feeling of inevitability and resignation.