Tired of hanging around, life at his neck, it seems
A little breather was all that he needs
So he took a little walk to a ledge off a cliff
He took a little walk to blow his head off some steam
He recalled "down the road, not across the street"
So he made a little cut through a familiar stream
Now a vein in the arms of time slowly bleeds out
Down for the count, on the ground, he picked his poison
He knew it might be over soon so he simply tried to drown
Out the voices in his head, telling him to never frown
In the face of death. He stood by the edge, knowing
It will all be over somehow.
This would only take a while now.
Whistling a tune, he waited for the noon to set
It might be over soon, he whispered to himself.