All of my friends are dead.
They're still breathing,
their hearts still beating.
But all of my friends are dead.

The light has gone out,
eyes like stones and hands as cold,
smiles that just don't reach.
All of my friends are dead.

It came gradually in adolescence,
caressing my friends' troubled minds.
Singing them to sleep with silence,
all of my friends are dead.

It promised them relief--nothingness,
in comparison to the weight of everything,
they just had to take the chance.
All of my friends are dead.

Everyday I remember the silence,
the nights it sang me to sleep.
Some of my friends are sleeping forever,
but all of my friends are dead.