s u i c i d e b y t h o u g h t
Freedom, oh if I die young.
Spare flowers, just make ashes of my bones.
Then put me in some garbage urn.
And roll me down a hill.
If certain I am done,
be sure that I am done,
just as soon as I am done.
Dear Father,
Oh what have I become?
Some coward dares to wear my crown.
And mocks me from the throne room
as I'm locked in the shed.
If certain I am dead,
be sure that I am dead
because I'm coming for revenge.
Spare flowers.
If not, I'll wear them in
my hair.
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