• Everytime I pass by a flag raised up
    or down
    I think of all those people gone
    and forgotton.

    When I leave,
    Whould anyone notice?
    Whould I really be remembered?

    I wonder if my parents truly love me,
    Or if I shouldn't have been born.
    Than I'm defective, a mistake.
    I'm nothing.

    Whould I really be forgiven,
    for taking my own life?
    Would they still remember me?

    Even if they saw my body swaying in the
    wind, as I dangle from the tree in the yard.
    Or the note, spattered with blood,
    And the dent in the floor, from where the gun
    clanked to the floor.

    When I'm gone,
    How will I be remembered?
    I dont want the way I die to be a reflection on
    how I lived, or how I didnt.

    I dont want my parents to feel ashamed,
    or think it's their fault.
    It's no one's but my own.

    I sit here with my heavy heart,
    Wondering if I should take my
    chance's with God.

    To see if even HE won't love me.
    Then I think of who I know,
    and who I will leave.

    I'm not afraid of death,
    I'm not afread to die.
    I'm only afraid of what
    I'll leave behind.

    Or who I'll miss.
    What I'll miss.
    And who will remember me....