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?