Knife across my wrists, Gun against my head, Part the flesh-pull the trigger and i'll end up dead. I'm so depressed, I'm always feeling so oppressed. My life is a fulltime pantomime. I'm dressed in my finest suit, I'm so sad that I can't speak, guess now I'm mute. I feel so empty, the pain is absolute. It's growing close to my time, the ending of a life can happen anytime. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak. Why,oh why, am I so weak? When I try to let them know, I feel like my life is a full-time pantomime. My life is a joke and makes the audience laugh so hard they choke. Every night I lie in bed, wishing to the Lord that I was dead. I lie there and start to cry. When I try to let them know, I feel like a mime, like my life is a full-time pantomime.
