Black roses, black clothes.
The life I lived was filled with black.
So why not my afterlife?
Living life was a pain to me.
That's the reason I took my life.
Blades or knives I didn't care.
I cut myself anywhere.
And now my life is dead and gone.
At my funeral play a sad song.
Black casket, black roses.
Black clothes, black everything.
Please follow my one last request.
No comments:
Post a Comment