Sometimes I think of death,
how sometimes it's far fetched to think none less than that
it's an ease set to put me to rest.
I'm not saying this life isn't beautiful,
or more over that I'd love to see my family at the funeral.
Oh but if those brake pads gave
and that big eighteen wheeler swayed, hit and swerved me off the side into a twisted metal grave;
Well I had given what I'd got but in the end it's tough to say that sometimes I think that life is better off that way.
Not for me but for those I care for.
Ripped and torn by thinking I know exactly what I live for.
I don't and that's a scary thing.
Something that could shake me wide awake at night while having dreams.
Sometimes I think of death,
friendly by the way it swept and kept me safe.
I was begging to leave but decided to stay.
Now my mind is blank.