Atelectasis Secondary to Bronchial Obstruction
Lyrics
“Atelectasis (The Stolen Breath)”
(Verse 1) I am the vacuum, the stolen breath, The tiny, quiet, airless death. I’m not the sac that’s filled with pus, A “something” dense and ruinous. I’m not the “half-full” GGO, I am the place where nothing can flow. I am the alveoli, sad and tight, Compressed and emptied of the light.
(Chorus) Oh, I am Atelectasis! The sac that’s “full of nothing.” I am Volume Loss, you see, The one defined by emptiness. The “imperfect expansion,” the fallen sail, I am the lung that’s doomed to fail.
(Verse 2) A plug of mucus, a bronchial block, The air downstream, a ticking clock. Resorbed by blood, the walls collapse, A house of cards, a fatal lapse. Or I am pushed by an outside force, A pleural tide, a different source. A heavy mass, a watery grave, That crushes the soft lung it bathes.
(Chorus) Oh, I am Atelectasis! The sac that’s “full of nothing.” I am Volume Loss, you see, The one defined by emptiness. The “imperfect expansion,” the fallen sail, I am the lung that’s doomed to fail.
(Bridge) On the X-ray, I am a line, A “plate,” a wedge, a hazy sign. But look! The fissure, it is pulled, The diaphragm is upward-ruled. The mediastinum shifts my way, It runs to fill the empty bay.
(Chorus) Oh, I am Atelectasis! The sac that’s “full of nothing.” I am Volume Loss, you see, The one defined by emptiness. The “imperfect expansion,” the fallen sail, I am the lung that’s doomed to fail.
I am the vacuum, the stolen breath, The tiny, quiet, airless death. I am not the sac that’s filled with pus, A “something” dense and ruinous. I am not the “half-full” GGO, I am the place where nothing can flow.
I am the alveoli, sad and tight, Compressed and emptied of the light. The “imperfect expansion,” the fallen sail, I am the lung that’s doomed to fail, Not by a flood, but by a drain. I am the loss, I am the wane.
A plug of mucus, a bronchial block, The air downstream, a ticking clock. Resorbed by blood, the walls collapse, A house of cards, a fatal lapse.
Or I am pushed by an outside force, A pleural tide, a different source. A heavy mass, a watery grave, That crushes the soft lung it bathes.
On the X-ray, I am a line, A “plate,” a wedge, a hazy sign. But look! The fissure, it is pulled, The diaphragm is upward-ruled. The mediastinum shifts my way, It runs to fill the empty bay.
For I am Volume Loss, you see, The one defined by emptiness. The sac that’s “full of nothing,” I am Atelectasis.