Suicide

Suicide

He sits in the room, gun in his hand.
Why has he chosen to be the suicide man?
May I take the gun, believe me suicide can't be all that fun.
This doesn't have to be your only choice.
Stop raising your hand to your temple,
put it down and follow my voice.
But he said he doesn't agree,
that he much rather fly than stay here with me.
He put the gun to his head,
told me he was sorry and in a split second he was dead.
My first question came in a cry.
"Was I so horrible that you had no choice but to die?"
My last question came in a plea.
"Was it never enough just to have me?"
But you chose the easy way out,
suicide was your mission and you followed through no doubt.
You gave a life of pain and drone.
But that wasn't an excuse to leave me alone.
Let me explain in words of sorrow...
Where you travel...
I'll always follow...