| Knowing you are going to die
|
| Is a hard thing accepted at first.
|
| Laying in a pool of your own fucking blood
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| As the vultures circle over your fucking head…
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| With a bullet in your gut.
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| This is a slow and painful death.
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| Millions of things run through your mind.
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| Too many «what ifs?» |
| to count.
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| As I lay in a pool of a blood, I can’t help but think,
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| Will I be remembered? |
| The answer is; |
| probably not.
|
| I try to make it to my feet to no prevail.
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| EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK.
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| EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK.
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| I think I have died only to wake up
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| As if this is some sort of sick fucking joke.
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| This is not a dream, still bleeding.
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| Still filled with all of this pain.
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| TRYING TO MOVE TO MY FEET, I DO NOT PREVAIL.
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| I watch as the vultures circle over my head.
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| Life blurs as I try to make things out. |
| Yelling will do me no good,
|
| So I lay and wait for fucking death.
|
| I watch as the vultures circle over my head.
|
| Yelling will do me no good, so I lay and wait for death.
|
| As I lay in a pool of blood, I can’t help but think,
|
| Will I be remembered? |
| The answer is; |
| probably not.
|
| I try to make it to my feet; |
| I do not prevail.
|
| Life blurs as I try to make everything out.
|
| Yelling will do me no fucking good,
|
| So I lay and wait for death.
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| When I die, will I go anywhere?
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| Or am I doomed to sit and fucking rot? |