Knowing you are going to die is a hard thing accepted at first.
Laying in a pool of your own f**ing blood,
As the vultures circle over your f**ing head.
With a bullet in your gut,
This is a slow and painful d**h.
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.
I think I have died only to wake up,
As if this is some sort of sick f**ing 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 f**ing d**h.
I watch as the vultures circle over my head.
Yelling will do me no good,
So I lay and wait for d**h.
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 f**ing good,
So I lay and wait for d**h.
When I die, will I go anywhere?
Or am I doomed to sit and f**ing rot?