Knowing you are going to die is a hard thing accepted at first. Laying in a pool of your own fucking blood as the vultures circle over your fucking head...
with a bullet in your gut. This is a slow and painful death. Millions of things run through your mind. Too many "what ifs?" to count.
As I lay in a pool of a blood, I can't help but think, will I be remembered? The answer is; probably not. I try to make it to my feet to no prevail.
EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK.
EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK.
I think I have died only to wake up as if this is some sort of sick fucking joke. This is not a dream, still bleeding. Still filled with all of this pain.
TRYING TO MOVE TO MY FEET, I DO NOT PREVAIL.
I watch as the vultures circle over my head. 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.
When I die, will I go anywhere? Or am I doomed to sit and fucking rot?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
