Bleeding slow, dying is a go.
Crying at night, in my mind i'm putting up a fight.
A fight to stay sane, but the demons are the ones who gain.
Gain the control over me, making me suffer with pain.
The colors are fading, and the darkness is spreading.
Most days and nights i'm alone, as an emo i am known.
Known for being depressed and goth, for i am dying slow like a sloth.
Wanting to end it all, i'm going down with a big fall.
I'm sick and tired, my mind feels like its wired.
Wired like a device, like robot mice.
Just pull the trigger, or buy me liquor.
For i am done, just give me the gun.