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(Sample: Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire") |
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"Ayatollolah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan |
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Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide..." |
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(Verse 1: Necro) |
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You wanna die intentionally due to your masochist nature |
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You're impatient; death comes eventually |
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But you want instant gratification |
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Suicide's been attempted; you're not alive if you meant it |
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And if you survive you'll be labeled demented |
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And sent to somewhere expensive |
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Where they'll keep you stable with narcotics |
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Strapped to a table in a place full of psychotics |
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Locked in a rubber room unable to bash your skull |
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Or hang yourself with a cable |
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It's ironic like a fable |
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Depression has infected you, you're under the impression |
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It's best to put a Tech to your neck |
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And apply pressure to the trigger mechanism |
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Now you figure it's less of a prison on the other side |
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Once you've died you can't come back if it isn't |
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The unknown; the afterlife, and where we go after we die |
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To find out before it's your time, you'd have to sacrifice |
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Like Japanese pilots did for their cause |
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Believing there's something beautiful to balance the violent shit |
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(Chorus: repeat 2X) |
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You did it! (Son, you did it!) |
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You put the gun into your mouth and blasted yourself |
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And that's it, kid |
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You can't come back |
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You regret it, but you're deaded |
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You committed a suicide, and your whole head is shredded |
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(Verse 2: Necro) |
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Drinking cyanide? Choose a beverage |
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Use a rod to tighten the loop of rope around your neck |
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Just use some leverage |
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Asphyxiation, brain hemmorhage |
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Chopped in half by a band saw |
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Take a second from life to stop and laugh |
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I can't imagine the pain you feel |
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You're not a coward; you're brave |
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You allowed your head to be decapitated by a train wheel |
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Razor to the throat, methamphetamine ducts |
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Suicide epilogue, end of scene, cut |
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You can jump in front of a truck and be a corpse in the street |
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And try to go out dramatically like Natalie Portman in "Heat" |
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Seven days underwater at 20 degrees Celcius |
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Overdosage of barbituates, takin' a shit, like Elvis |
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Found in your underwear with a gun in your hand |
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And a suicide note next to you, hoping we'd understand |
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If you've got a problem, suicide will solve it |
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Check out the hook; Budd Dwyer with a revolver |
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(Chorus) |
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(Sample: Budd Dwyer's suicide at a press speech) |
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Dwyer: (stuttering) "When I..." |
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(Dwyer removes a revolver from a manilla envelope, crowd panics) |
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Dwyer: "This will only take a moment." |
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Crowd: "Budd, no, please, please! Don't shoot it! Don't shoot it!" |
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Dwyer: "Stay back, don't, don't! This will hurt someone!" |
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(Dwyer puts the barrel of the revolver into his mouth and fires upwards into his skull) |
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Crowd: "No, oh my fucking god! Oh my god! (crying) Oh, shit, no!" |
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Crowd: "Alright, settle down! Don't panic, don't panic. Someone call a doctor! |
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Somebody call an ambulance, a doctor, and the police!" |