Every night as you eat a meal,
I solemnly sign a devils deal.
The agreement simply reads as such,
It's suicide I'll have for lunch.
And breakfast, dinner, every day.
All sustenance I've signed away.
I only hope the pain will dull,
the consequence, I shall not mull.
For the lessening of life long strife,
I'll trade the threat of ended life.
I know my sorrow will slowly pale,
for every breath of death, inhaled.
And if it's bourbon I choose for dinner,
I'm told that peace can find this sinner