Don't tell me it's not hard to-

not think of death sometimes,

don't tell me that it's difficult-

after you've eased your worried mind,

to let it all go,

to set your mind blank,

to disappear forever,

my sadness sank.

I'm not afraid of death,

but I'm afraid of what's next,

the sorrow of my loved ones-

will keep me from my rest,

but I still dream of resting,

even though I never sleep,

but these pure white houses,

and the ocean green streets,

are far too deceiving,

black is nowhere to be seen.

Is it bad I'd rather go to Hell,

since God seems so mean?

I can't stand much taller-

than my own height can reach.

It's cowardly and selfish,

but I'm just a waste of time,

don't tell me it's not hard to-

not think of death sometimes,

I may worry of what's next,

but I don't want to be alive,

don't tell me it's not hard to-

not think of death sometimes.