Is your joke still funny,
When she's lying in her grave?
When she's taken her own life,
When she gives in to hidden pain?
Is it still a joke
When she fakes a smile, forces a laugh?
When your joke is marked upon her wrist,
Her ribs, her thighs, her calf?
Will you still be laughing,
When depression takes its way?
Because the joke's no longer funny,
When she's lying in her grave.
