Young man, its time to wake up.
Your love affair with death has got to go.

From many long years, you have to rake up.
The Leaves from the past.

Slow suicide is no way to go.

Blue, colored gray days
Dizzy weakend by the haze
Infection is not a phase

The cracks and lines from where you failed.
They make an easy man to read.

For all those times you bleed.
For a little peace from God you plea and beg

Your not a fake now, so wake up.
Now is your time not to go.