I didn't quite make it to 19
Because the bullet didn't let me.
Mom, I'm sorry for the mess, I
Know I'm old enough to
Clean up after myself.
At least I didn't waste Dad's pills.

But who's gonna feed the dog?
Who's gonna feed the dog?
Who's gonna

Is my room planning to stagnate
And stop building new memories
On my walls?
Will my bed springs ever creak again?
Would friends dial my number
Before remembering
Or forget to call just like always?

Who's gonna tell you everything's okay?
Not me, not me
Who's gonna tell you everything's okay?
Who's gonna help you make it to the next day?