The Aftermath Of A Suicidal Mind:

He spins the chromium cyclinder
His shiny merry go round of death,
And contraplates his forethoughts
With depression upon his breath.

Misery occupies his weakish mind
And his will to live is slowly dying,
All his life he's been but a failure
Now he's so finally tired of trying.

He looks straight down the barrell
That dark tunnel of no surprise,
With fear inside his unsaved heart
And the bluest tears in his eyes.

For he finally has the upper hand
Once in his lifetime he's in control,
To permanently end all his torture
That's imprisoned within his soul.

With cold steel against his temple
He says goodbye to his existence,
And with his sweaty trigger finger
Takes the path of least resistence.

His body now sleeps in a pine box
As his fellow man lowers him down,
Into an eternity of unbareable pain
That awaits him below the ground.

Because suicide is never the solution
To silence all of your ailing afflictions,
For the fire and the brimstone in Hell
Is your remedy for your self infliction.