Azithromycin, Aztreonam, Azathioprine
It's a story of the MICU, where we run around in circles
Fast, hot, burning through metal, parts screaming and gliding and spinning
There are sparks flying, and the Twelve Beds are no longer lore
Of some faraway epic or fantasy; it's not magic
Your hands are dirty, and you're up to your elbows, and you're up to your neck
Don't look away or someone dies, and the flying sparks are not catching fire
Or they're burning out, maybe unceremoniously
Fast, hot, burning through metal, parts screaming and gliding and spinning
There are sparks flying, and the Twelve Beds are no longer lore
Of some faraway epic or fantasy; it's not magic
Your hands are dirty, and you're up to your elbows, and you're up to your neck
Don't look away or someone dies, and the flying sparks are not catching fire
Or they're burning out, maybe unceremoniously