There’s 50 pills in my room, calling my name.
Oh, these suicidal thoughts which I’m trying to tame.

The water below the bridge, has asked me for a kiss.
Oh, it sounds so soothing, it simply can’t be dismissed.

The blades in my dresser are singing to me.
They sing songs of beauty, I can’t escape their esprit.

My throat tells me it longs to be cut.
I fear I’ve become trapped in this endless rut.

The knives in the kitchen just seem so inviting.
Oh, the illicit behavior which they seem to be inciting.

How long will I be able to subdue these thoughts?
I never even flinch when I hear gun shots.

My mind is drawn to the beauty of death.
I wonder when it’ll be, when I’ll let out my last breath.

My intuition tells tales of suicide.
Now all that’s left to do, is say good bye.