i'm counting every breath now
each one bringing me closer to death now
there's a searing pain in my lungs
if they collapsed and i collapsed
i'd become the fortunate son
we're no longer talking in terms of days or weeks or months
but rather minutes and hours
i've lost my will to speak
and the air we breathe is sour
i don't think i'll make it
i want to tell you how i really feel
because it's killing me to fake it