It’s a testament to his will, that he wakes up everyday,
The cigarettes that he breaths, keeping demons away,
And of course he don’t wanna leave, but the future is now the past,
Nothing really matters now, nothing don’t ever last.

He remembers the creases in your palms,
Makes jokes about about singing Psalms,
Would look up to the stars, wonder
“Why the **** are we ever are?”

It’s a testament to his will, that he can still find peace,
It’s not like he has bills to pay, college is under lease,
Popping strings on his guitar,
Curiously falling into ever more.

He don’t believe in no Satan,
Though the world, is full of hatin’,
And no one is ever ever right,
He’s still keeping hold,
Philosophy tight.

And he still sees your kingdom ways,
Still thinking of those yellow plays,
He still don’t wanna talk no more,
Keeping busy with them busy ******.

And my how he thinks he’s from dust,
And how he’s lying about his lust,
And how he thinks you’re from light,
Just wants to fall from great heights.

It’s a testament to his will,
He’s gonna force the world to stand still,
The chance is maybe one out of three,
Of him being weightless and free,

He’ll be happy for the rest of his being,
Knowing he’s finally leaving the living.