The Art of Suicide
The art of suicide, nightgowns and hairCurls flying every which-wayThe fate too pure to hideRidges of sizeMeant to conceal lovers lies
Under the arches of moonlight and skySuddenly easy to contemplate whyWhyWhy live a lifeThat's painted with pity and sadness and strifeWhy dream a dreamThat's tainted with trouble and less than it seemsWhy bother botheringJust for a poem or another sad song to singWhy live a lieWhy live a lie
The art of suicide, gritty and cleanConveys a theatrical sceneAlas, I've gone she criedVeins displayedMelodramatically laid
Under the arches of moonlight and skySuddenly easy to contemplate whyWhyWhy live a lifeThat's painted with pity and sadness and strifeWhy dream a dreamThat's tainted with trouble and less than it seemsWhy bother botheringJust for a poem or another sad song to singWhy live a lieWhy live a lie
Why live a lifeThat's painted with pity and sadness and strifeWhy dream a dreamThat's tainted with trouble and less than it seemsWhy bother botheringJust for a poem or another sad song to singWhy live a lieWhy live a lieWhy live a lieWhy live a lie
Life is not like a gloomy SundayWith a second ending where the people are disturbedWell they should be disturbedBecause there's a story that ought to be heard
Life is not like a gloomy SundayWith a second ending where the people are disturbedWell they should be disturbedBecause there's a lesson that really ought to be learned
The world is full of poetsWe don't need any moreThe world is full of singersWe don't need any moreThe world is full of loversWe don't need any more