[Verse 1] A prince fell ill one winter night, a weakness in his breath. His wound was red, his eyes were weak, the sickness threatening death. The first physician took his hand: “Oh, hush now, don’t be scared. You’ve suffered quite enough today. You need to know I care.” [Pre-Chorus] She brought him broth and feathered quilts, and soothed him through the night. But when one asked to cut the rot, she gasped, "That can't be right!" [Chorus] The prince lay pale beneath the sheets; The room was cold and still. The wound spread farther under cloth, Indifferent to their will. A kindness that won't name the wound Lets sickness have its way. And truth delivered without care May drive the cure away. [Verse 2] The second healer strode inside and saw the spreading blight. "The rotten flesh must come away, or you'll not last the night." The prince went white. "Will this hurt much?" "Of course. Now hold him still." "Could you explain?" "What need is there? The wound's enough to kill." [Pre-Chorus] The frightened prince refused the blade. The doctor turned aside. "Then die! My diagnosis stands, Whatever you decide." [Chorus] The prince lay pale beneath the sheets; The room was cold and still. The wound spread farther under cloth, Indifferent to their will. A kindness that won't name the wound Lets sickness have its way. And truth delivered without care May drive the cure away. [Bridge] The gentle healer said with spite "Well, splendidly explained." The second frowned. "Was I not right?" "You were. What have you gained?" She gently stroked the prince's brow: “He cannot bear the knife.” The other snapped, “Then comfort him While comfort costs his life.” [Verse 3] She faced the frightened prince with tears: “My lord, this wound runs deep. The knife will hurt, but it may save the life you wish to keep.” The other softened just enough: “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. No boast, no threat, no pretty lie. But I will see you through.” She held his hand and kept him still; he cut the rot away. She dressed the wound; he checked his pulse; both watched till break of day. [Pre-Chorus] The healers saved the prince that night; the Fool addressed the two: “One nearly killed him with a lie, one nearly with the truth.” [Final Chorus] For mercy that denies the wound may make the dying smile. And truth that scorns the wounded man may drive him off a mile. The facts do not grow false because they hurt to hear or bear. But truth is not made stronger by pretending not to care. [Outro] So when a friend needs words from you, be neither blind nor cruel. Compassion without truth deceives, and truth without compassion wounds.
