I need to start this off by letting you know that this isn’t my story to tell And from this point on the words I speak are from the mouth of somebody else It was pineapple of the Friday nights spent in the living room in Of the house I grew up in But I could tell with every call on my mother’s phone That something was different And then she told me what happened
They had to break into The door through her living room ‘Cause she lived alone When she had the stroke
And she had been on the hardwood floor for days Before anybody got through the door and She had just turned 75 Which is still too young to have to fight for life And before long, before the stroke There was no sign That this was the way that it would go Although her body was aging Her heart was younger than most of the family’s That’s why this was such a surprise But we know who wins the fight between body and mind
I thought, “this can’t be possible” On the way to the hospital ‘Cause if I had known that she had a stroke Maybe I could’ve called and stopped it all I could’ve come by, and said hello Instead I had no clue Of the things she was going through And as I sat at home She tried to grab the phone
But her body couldn’t handle the way She picked herself up But then her legs were shaking She pulled the phone cord Clean out of the wall
As I sat beside the hospital bed And I wondered all the things That went through your head Cold and alone With the screen door open And no salvation in sight
And for four days You fought through the night As everybody carried on With their lives
The neighbours were outside And the mailman came to the door But with valient attempts to create noise You were failed by your weak voice
And where was I As the sun rose and sun set If there ever was a time That you needed God It was then And I can’t Begin to imagine The hopelessness
Turn on the light Turn on the light Don’t give up the fight Give up the fight
Turn on the light Turn on the light This can’t be right This can’t be right