Depressed is just a word,
hell is just a place,
the knife is a cover,
to hide my true face,

Maybe i'm not scared to die,
maybe i won't even cry,
the truth is,
all i could hope for is that this knife,
slides across my wrist,

maybe your thinking,
how could this be,
how could anyone be so unhappy,
why would anyone want to die?

All i can say is this is just me,
this is how its been ever since then,
ever since now and it will never end,
until i succeded in getting my one wish,
but let me ask you a question,
do dreams really come true?
 
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