i am ill
sick of this dead-end life
doctors say i need a pill
i say i need a knife
perhaps i could wash away the pain
with the blood of my guilt
maybe a battle will cause me to gain
a sanity gone too soon after it was built
as i open my eyes i'm afraid to see
afraid to know if i can sustain the truth
my haunted mind seems to be the last key
within it a world much too different from youth
a world were the logic has long disappered
replaced with hatred, unhappiness and gore
filled with enemies and friends quite too wierd,
i continue to fight with a heart much to sore
it bleeds and it aches
with every slash that i make
but i have to go on, whatever it takes
perhaps someday, i will awake
i am ill
sick of this dead-end life
they say i need a pill
i say i need a knife