A Promise

Immanuel, will your doctors let you be ill?
Or are the new laws quoting quotas they have to fill?
They said you to have to work,
So you work and you get worse,
And you curse the day you were born.
Fill in your date of birth,
And sign your name on the application form.
Immanuel, every drop of blood tastes like wine.
When I speak of blood,
I'm speaking of how you always felt like a brother to me.
Immanuel, when I speak of wine,
I'm speaking of the wine regions outside of Santiago, Chile
Where I will take you when you get better.
Immanuel, it's difficult to stand fast
When it's not your arm nicely wrapped in a cast,
When you're a needle in a haystack,
And a dead horse on the racetrack,
And no one sees you bleeding,
When the story is old
And the winter blowing cold in Sweden.
Immanuel, every drop of blood tastes like wine.
When I speak of blood,
I'm speaking of what I would do if anyone hurt you.
Immanuel, when I speak of wine,
I'm speaking of the wine regions outside of Santiago, Chile
Where I will take you when you get better.
And that's a promise.
Immanuel, imagine the cool breeze from the Andes.
Immanuel, imagine the full-bodied red wine against your lips.
Immanuel, imagine the Chilean women,
The most beautiful women in the world.