Borrowed Red

Another transfusion on oder!

One more bag to start the flow,
Two more hours, pulse is low.
Three more vials of borrowed red,
Four more days to get ahead.

The color climbs back in his cheek,
An interim fix for the weak.
But when the clock begins to slow,
And all that life begins to go...

Will he really ask for more?
Will he really ask for more?
The needle bites, the pump hums on,
To find the strength that’s nearly gone.

The numbers drop, the spirit’s sore,
He’s walked this path so oft before.
He looks at us, he looks away,
To buy himself another day.

We see the shadow at the door,
And wonder will he ask for more?

A heavy choice within his eyes,
Before the final sun can rise.
To hold the line or find the shore,
And finally, ask for nothing more.