Weak hands and atrophy.
Death sentence catastrophe.
Only two to five years, they say.
But you can't really count on any given day.
Popping pills, stuck down in the basement.
This never should've been your life's placement.
Praying for more but knowing it's less.
Forgive me father, I'm here to confess.
Should've done more and been around.
Couldn't stand to see what they'd found.
Dancing around any chance for pain.
Queen of avoidance, accepting my reign.
Bitter and hostile, regret and self hate.
You said don't cry, a little too late.
Grasping hard, but I guess this is just fate.