Will you cry when I die?
Or instead, will you sigh,
a breath of relief,
around my demise?
Never did nothin' but try to survive,
can't help how scary God made my eyes.
Can't help how violent my meals may have looked,
but if it makes you feel better, I left lunch with a hook.
A hook in my stomach to tear my insides to shreds,
but what do you care?
You'll be safe when I'm dead.
I doubt that you understand any of this,
when you're just like the others...
just a scared little fish.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment