Drowning is an art-form, you’ve got your foot on my neck
Face down, biting asphalt,
I struggle for my last breath, black turn’s white,
This is what you had hoped for

Why did you leave me?
Why did you leave me here?


Take a vote on this, summer or winter death,
Each are just so appealing,
The people at the back scream to be heard,
“Pick me, pick me! Pick me!”


They tell it so, the hero dies first,
(Truth is) “He’s already dead”,
Don’t let your chances, pass you by,
“Count me in!”


So educated not so smart, I’ve been corrected,
You can see the crossed lines,
If anything you taught me, not to give my own,
Opinion of you


Why did you leave me?
Why did you leave me here?

Promise me, promise me
They tell it so, the hero dies first,
“He’s already dead”
Don’t let your chances, pass you by,
“Count me in!”