| It’s all downhill
|
| From here, old man
|
| Auf wiedersehen
|
| Two steps forward
|
| Six feet underground
|
| Standing O
|
| Take a bow
|
| Lab coats
|
| Machines
|
| And all the chemotherapy
|
| Don’t seem
|
| To me
|
| An answer to these tears you long to see
|
| So i ain’t crying no more
|
| I’d pull out the plug
|
| If i could muster up the love
|
| No one wants memories of
|
| Skid marks
|
| Pants pissed
|
| Jim Beam
|
| Mary Jane
|
| Wherefore art thou Kevorkian?
|
| No way
|
| Jose
|
| It’s not for me
|
| This life spent basking in you agony
|
| Give me the longest walks
|
| Prescribe for me the shortest piers
|
| I ain’t going out like that
|
| No way, not me, I’d rather die
|
| And as I stood there by his bed
|
| Bowls of Jell-O, crusts of bread
|
| Stared straight into his eyes
|
| And I wanted him to die
|
| And I felt the shame
|
| Of such, such naiveté
|
| That someone young
|
| That someone dumb
|
| Someone my age
|
| Could feel so callously
|
| To want to piss in the fountains of youth
|
| To dance all night on the graves of the dead
|
| To want to tear those pink ribbons to shreds
|
| And as he lay there in his bed
|
| 80 pounds, half dead
|
| He said, «Bink, please hold my hand…
|
| I don' think that you understand…
|
| Oh, puneta, I’ve done all that I can
|
| And I don’t want to die.»
|
| You’re gonna die
|
| You’re gonna die
|
| You’re gonna |