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This gun is pointed at my head.
I'm sure as hell I'm gonna be dead.


I don't know who you are
but you obviously hate me
so it's put to my heart.


And you draw the knife, from it's case
it shines from the light
the horrible blade.


And it takes place of the gun
I don't know why I'm the one.


Knife at heart
trigger starts
and it's almost my end.


Gun at head
tears being shed
put the knife down.


I beg to you
there's nothing I can do.


As the knife shoves in
and my face turns white
I gasp for more air
filled with freight.


Hold me closer
so I can feel your even beat.
I'm getting colder.
I need your heat.


The trigger jabs
and the bullet lunges
towards my aching head.


And I can't think of anything right now except,
'I am probably dead.'