Demons whisper in my ear
So only I can hear
"Pick up that gun, feel the weight in your hand
Go on point it at your temple, we promise it well be grand"

Hand gripping the gun tight, finger on the trigger
I know there are things to be considered
With gun pointed to the ground
I get up and start to pace around

In my sister's room doing laps
As quick as the grays on the tracks
Chasing that ever elusive rabbit
I'm to lost in thought and pacing is just habit
Is this my sister's test
Telling me about the loaded gun and all the rest

I could take the gun, and take a walk, the woods are not that far
Just past the cemetery, just past that golden star
Sit under a big old oak tree
Put the barrel between my eyes, count to three
A single shot the birds would scatter to the sky
I would die

But I can't do that, my sister would blame herself foever
For my suicidal endeavor
So I put the gun down
Metal on wood is the only sound
I slowly and quietly walk away
Looks like I survived another day