Knowing you are going to die
is a hard thing accepted at first.
Laying in a pool of your own $#&@ing blood

as the vultures circle over your $#&@ing head...

with a bullet in your gut.

This is a slow and painful death.
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.


EVERYTHING IS GOING BLACK.


I think I have died only to wake up
as if this is some sort of sick $#&@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 $#&@ing death.

I watch as the vultures circle over my head.

Yelling will do me no good, so I lay and wait for death.
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 $#&@ing good,
so I lay and wait for death.


When I die, will I go anywhere?
Or am I doomed to sit and $#&@ing rot?