I already feel dead,
And there's evidence out side of my thoughts in my head.
My hands are freezing,
My wrist are bleeding.
And gloves and band aids aren't going to save me,
Because giving me a parachute,
After I fall of a cliff won't make my murder any less absolute,
I'll still fall.
You saying 'I love you' after you say words of hate,
Doesn't keep me from this suicidal debate.
