| hANgInG fROm tHe cEiLinG.. |
| they found him hanging from the ceiling, by his bedroom door, eyes stained by tears. and he was clutching his salvation, with his finger on the trigger, loaded with fear. and he'd been cutting at his wrists, like the sunday roast, couldn't feel a thing. and he'd emptied all his cupboards, for the medicines, to cure the pain. they found him hanging from the ceiling, by his bedroom door, too scared to jump. and his hands were shaking so much, that he shot the floor, but not his skull. and he was trying to stop the bleeding, so scared it's too late, biting his lip. and he was going to shut the bottles, and to climb right down, until he slipped. they cut his body from the ceiling, by his bedroom door, a few seconds too late. and they saw clearly that he'd meant to, do just what he did, I guess that's fate. they found him hanging from the ceiling, by his bedroom door, they found him hangin from the ceiling. |