Bid Adieu

When the youth die we always say they passed before their time
But at what time in our lives would they say that we just die?
And if I euthanize myself at the peak of my health
Will they still speak of me like I couldn't tell the wrong from the right?

I bet they would call me kid
I bet they would call me innocent
Trigger finger to the head, you just tell me when and I'll pull it in
Because I'm the first of a dying breed
All I wanted was a dynasty
A poetry speaking honesty but it ended back in indecision
And the misery of the mystery of what people will think of me
If I live to twenty something and don't end up dying in my teens, like
Is it before my time yet?
Okay
Just tell me when

Because if all we have is how we're remembered
I'll burn a church down just to get trapped under it
In a heroic suicide of trying to save a another life
But I knew nothing was forming inside, it was my cover
And I'm up to my neck in nooses
And I don't mean to be a nuisance
But the inconvenient truth is found when all the fucking news says is
"Guns, guns, weather, guns, guns, and yet another shooting"
There's too many half empty coffins
We all care for one day shrug it off and say, "the youth die so often"
And it's true
So just tell me when
So I can bid adieu to killing time and just kill myself instead
But we won't break bread because I've broken enough skin
I guess that's the difference between a starving artist
And the well fed

And if I met father time I'd tell him to kill himself
For all the trials in this world that he has still yet to tell
And if his brother the reaper calls to collect again
I'm gonna let it go to voice mail
Because I haven't picked who to harm and if I don't get into Hell
If Hell exists, or if this isn't it
If the devil himself would even take me in
And I wish he would just that I can report back home
That Satan is taking applicants from even the best of kids
Just like me

We don't know how much blood to drink until I taste the grapes
Or if by then would I be wasted enough to dance on my own grave
In a drunkenly manner of a certain rant or rave
About a boy with good morals but a lack of faith
Turned into a saved man but now a cripple
With a griphold on a Bible and a mind on a rifle
Living life inside scriptures is like living with a blindfold
So wrapped up in the afterlife that you put aside the real world
But the rest of us have to live here
So would you mind keep your mouth closed if your mind matches
And if the matches light would you sift through my ashes for dust mites
But it's me, so just might not, so more likely
The only trophy that I ever earned
Was an urn
For life participating
And I'm just waiting to fill it
We're all just waiting to fill it
Affiliated and create a feeling until someone else kills it
And someone always does
And everything we love becomes our disease
Eventually getting words from my mind to yours
Will be like pushing a corpse down the street
Just tell me when
And I'll make that corpse me