The cold steal presses,
Against your shaking skin.
It drags and cuts deep,
For death to finally win.
You walked the road,
So the blood spills out.
The pain is increasing,
But you don't even shout.
Sitting alone in an ally way,
Waiting to become nothing.
Your life is flashing before you,
The past mistakes are crushing.
You begin slipping into the cold,
One which will soon take you whole.
In about five minutes it'll be over,
And death will have your soul.
Though just by pure chance,
Someone finds you there.
You are rushed to the hospital,
Without another moment to spare.
This time you got lucky,
Next time might be a lot worse.
Cause instead of an ambulance,
You might be in the back of a hearse.
