"Get better" says the roommate, hugging you before bed
"Get better" says the mother to her ailing daughter
"Get better" says the little child to the dying man

"Be better" says the God to his child

I've tried to be better, really I have.
I gave up sins and lies
I'm keeping my body to myself
Keeping my lies inside and letting the truth spill out
Upon all the people I wasn't ready to trust it to
"Get better" says the priest to the sinner

I've tried to make myself better
I gave myself every medicine in the cabinet
No, I promise that's not literal, it's just a metaphor.
I took some truth, to help me sleep at night
I took some blame so he would see me cry
Maybe he'd believe how sorry I am if I cried again
I took some words, and gave some back
Hoping that if I drank enough
Of what he had to say
And puked out all that was inside of me
Maybe there'd be room enough for peace
Or love
Or forgiveness
Or by God, relief
But now I'm just empty
And aching to binge again
"Get better" says the doctor to the bulimic

I've tried everything to make it better
I've wrapped myself in praise
Twisted my mother and father around my fingers
Pulled my friends into my darkness
Because they can't quite pull me out
But there is just two more coverings I need
Self-love
Or true love
And can't quite reach for either
"Get better" says the passerby to the shivering lost one.

I have cancer
Not really, I promise that's a metaphor too
I'm dying
But seriously, just a metaphor
I'm cold and weak
And puking everything everywhere
All the time
Thinking it'll feel better
But tomorrow there's always just another load
And more poison to fill the space with
"Get better" says the man to his cancerous wife

"Get better" is what you said to me,
Pretending that you still care.

"Please get better"
Says the dying to her life.