Self-Destruction Blues
I'm sitting at the table, my head in my hands again.
My only love is newly dead and I'm not entirely sane.
I feel cold and empty; I don't know what to do.
All I want is not to be; I've got the Self-Destruction Blues.
I have friends who love me and say they'll always be there.
But in my head I know they lie, for no one really cares.
I just want to run away and end the pain I'm going through.
A pill, a knife, a nice long fall; each will end the Self-Destruction Blues
My end is near, so let me think about what I am going to do.
As I shirk off all my pain, all the suffering I've been through
Is it possible that you really cared, that I'll pass a gift to you?
If I end my life hear and now, will I give the Blues to you?
Can I do it, can I be so cruel to those who love me true.
Is such a cold and selfish act what a real friend would do?
I'm at a loss; I see no path for me to choose that will get me through.
My only hope is that my friends can cure my Self-Destruction Blues.