[Intro]
[Instrumentation: muted guitar strikes answer four sharp snare hits]

Blue gloves. Red hands.
Names first. Then plans.

[Verse 1]
A trolley blocks the yellow line,
The blood has crossed the warning sign.
A motorcyclist, twenty-three,
Keeps asking if his leg can bleed.
The chart says stable, marked in green,
His lips say more than charts can mean.
I press two fingers to his wrist—
A fading beat the list has missed.

[Pre-Chorus]
Bed five is full, bed six is torn,
The trauma room has lost its door.
The rules say wait, the pulse says move—
What would a quiet conscience choose?

[Chorus]
Blue gloves, red hands,
No clean line where duty ends.
Blue gloves, red hands,
I break the rule the body bends.
Write me down, condemn my plans—
I will not wash away these hands.

[Verse 2]
I pull the curtain, call for Hale,
His voice comes thin through static hail.
He says, “No room,” then hears the breath
Go shallow, counting toward its death.
We lift him where the bins are stored,
A borrowed bay, a metal board.
June finds the pressure dropping fast,
We make a room where none was planned.

[Pre-Chorus]
The form needs dates, the screen needs codes,
The body needs the blood that flows.
The rules say wait, the pulse says move—
A living fact the forms disprove.

[Chorus]
Blue gloves, red hands,
No clean line where duty ends.
Blue gloves, red hands,
I break the rule the body bends.
Write me down, condemn my plans—
I will not wash away these hands.

[Breakdown]
[Instrumentation: half-time guitars stop between each vocal line]
[Shouted Backing Vocals]

One bed.
Two calls.
Three alarms against the walls.
No bed.
Still breathe.
Keep the pressure. Do not leave.

[Lead Vocal: MARA]
The manager asks who cleared the bay.
I say my name. I make her stay.
She asks who signed. I lift my hands—
The blood has signed what life demands.

[Drum Break]
[Instrumentation: floor toms and rimshots reproduce the rhythm of hurried footsteps]

[Bridge]
He wakes enough to say, “My wife.”
Not “Will I walk?”—just “Tell my wife.”
I hold the phone beside his ear,
A broken voice becomes a pier.

[Second Bridge]
Across the line she says his name,
And every number seems ashamed.
The monitor climbs back from red—
A little proof he is not dead.

[Final Chorus]
Blue gloves, red hands,
No clean line where mercy ends.
Blue gloves, red hands,
We build a ward from broken plans.
File the blame and make your stands—
Tonight a man still knows her hands.

[Outro]
[Instrumentation: guitars stop; bass and heartbeat tom continue]

I strip the gloves and see the seam
Pressed blue across my skin beneath.
The sink runs clear. The clock advances.
Nothing clean removes the chances.
