In the crumbling city a hospital stood
Its walls made of holes, its floors laid in blood
He was there on the table, a man in distress
With a bullet hole wound torn in his chest
We set to work then, my colleague and I
As barrel bombs bowled and then rolled through the sky
And then in the door burst six men at my back
With knives and machine guns and uniforms black
My legs shook with fear, blood ran from my head
'Don't say a word now', my colleague said
Was then that I knew the man under my knife
Was a young ISIS fighter clinging to life
'The surgeon must work now', my colleaguе said
'If he is disturbed then your friеnd will be dead'
Their eyes burned down on me like beams of a sun
But I kept my hands steady till my job was done
Thank God that my arms had been hidden in blood
Thank God for my mask and thank God for my scrubs
Thank God they did not know that under my vest
There was an old cross and a white chest
And the fighter who'd lain there under my knife
Would never know just who had saved his life
And when people ask 'do I feel shame?'
I answer them 'No. I'd do it again.'
For life it is precious and life it is rare
And may my arms always be able to bear
From Darfur to Gaza and in every land
In crumbling cities, hospitals stand
Its walls made of holes, its floors laid in blood
He was there on the table, a man in distress
With a bullet hole wound torn in his chest
We set to work then, my colleague and I
As barrel bombs bowled and then rolled through the sky
And then in the door burst six men at my back
With knives and machine guns and uniforms black
My legs shook with fear, blood ran from my head
'Don't say a word now', my colleague said
Was then that I knew the man under my knife
Was a young ISIS fighter clinging to life
'The surgeon must work now', my colleaguе said
'If he is disturbed then your friеnd will be dead'
Their eyes burned down on me like beams of a sun
But I kept my hands steady till my job was done
Thank God that my arms had been hidden in blood
Thank God for my mask and thank God for my scrubs
Thank God they did not know that under my vest
There was an old cross and a white chest
And the fighter who'd lain there under my knife
Would never know just who had saved his life
And when people ask 'do I feel shame?'
I answer them 'No. I'd do it again.'
For life it is precious and life it is rare
And may my arms always be able to bear
From Darfur to Gaza and in every land
In crumbling cities, hospitals stand
envoyé par Dq82 - 21/8/2024 - 12:33
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tiny notes
There’s one final real life story of an inspirational figure. Cooney was commissioned to write The Surgeon, a slow waltzing ballad with sweeping strings and sparse, plangent, piano, for the BBC’s 21st Century Folk project, in tribute to David Nott, a British surgeon who, putting his Christian principles into action, has volunteered to work in many war zones. This song is about a time in Aleppo where he found himself operating on “a man in distress/With a bullet hole wound torn in his chest” only to discover when six men “with knives and machine guns and uniforms black” burst in and watched as he worked, that he was saving the life of a young ISIS fighter. Asked later if he regretted saving him, his reply was no, “for life it is precious and life it is rare/And may my arms always be able to bear”.
brightyoungfolk.com