This white polish has gone too long without its dye

The scent is gone, and so is the pink dry

I'm not running low on blades; I haven't used too many

I hope reality fades; cause God damn, I've had plenty!

It's been a while, by trusty friend

One day, you will help me meet my end

You, my darling pal, are a blade

Out to wrong all the rights I've made

Turn up the music so Mother can't hear my pain

And slide the silver on my wrist, hope I pop a vein

Well, those are the thoughts that beckon in my head

And for all the friends who support me...

Well, sorry, but I'd rather be dead...