As I look at the bullet, my head hurts like I've done this before.
I'm ready to end it, aside from the mess I'd leave on the floor.

My only concern of what I'd leave behind,
The burden to clean up whatever's left to find.

It'd be more than a week before anyone knew,
and only for something that I didn't do.

I used to worry bout how it'd be done,
Now I don't care; everyone else has won.

It doesn't need to mean something special to me,
Its not worth pressing on with whats destined to be.

I've held on longer than I thought I could,
It would seem much longer than I really should.

No need to see whats around the next bend,
I've turned a few corners and this is the end.

So one last pull while I'm standing tall.
I just need one, then you can have it all.