Scars that bring forth mostly tears,
Blood and gore along with fears
Run your finger over them
For your life there is no plan.
Now the scars begin to heal
A tiring process that is unreal
But you reopen the scars again
Just to feel the wrenching pain.
Is there anything wrong with me?
Was I really meant to be?
Questions through your head they run
Screaming your name -- they're having fun.
My life is but a bloody mess
Am I worth the time? Confess!
The pain is but a very small hurdle
Blood splattered on the ground curdles.
Ice-cold hearts that turn away
And you resolve to die today
But your hand trembles, lying to you,
Come on, it says, get it through.
But right before the knife goes in
You hear an ear-piercing scream
It's your mother -- she says "No!"
But it's too late -- your time to go.
A funeral held in your death
A sad sharp knife, now in its sheath
Lies beside you as people cry
It's what you wanted -- that's no lie.
Is the pain really worth stopping?
Your life out of others worth cropping?
Maybe yes, maybe no.
It's too late -- your time to go.