Some days I wish I could give up.
When the pain and the sadness,
and the crying and madness
become too much to bear,
on these days I swear,
I'll leave you all soon.
I look at the moon,
my hand in the air.
I'm tired, I'm dying.
My mind's giving up,
because no matter how hard I try,
and how high I try to fly,
all I ever do is fall flat on my back.