It's almost 2 and I'm looping my thoughts,
Repeated, Reiterated, Reoccurred, Dilated.
Sunken through air and ethereal steel,
I'm pleading for a meal,
To satiate my hunger,
For my eternal grave.

It's 2:00 and I'm finding no answers,
Within my brain,
Scanned, Manned, Retrospectively planned.
And I can't see myself reaping the weak,
yet I imagine myself holding a gun up to my head.
I'm pleading for His touch,
As an unbeliever, heretic, a deceiver,
Strike me down, God, now.
Send me down to my eternal slumber.

It's 3:00 and I'm back at this again,
Racking my brain,
My fretting, betting, setting off,
bomb-like migraines,
Reheat it again and I can see through the forestry greens,
I'm dead, I was already from the start.
So what's the point of lifting my head and making a sound?
I'm on trial as it stands,
Strike me down, God, now.
Send me down to my eternal grave.