I like my coffee hot enough to burn all the way down
I like my bath water cold so to mimic the lake as I drown
I like the still silence of my room at 2am as I think of life after death
Of what it might be like in the hours after my last breath
Will it be as they say, golden streets and pearly gates
Or will it just be over our bones rotting in over decorated crates
Sometimes I wander if I'll be the next one to find out
Because this world will never care what my struggles are about
