hold tight
for the ride
death is drawing near
grasp the dirt
six feet under
your choice is now your fear
last embrace
what a waste
to do nothing your last hour
off to hell
no prayers can help
It's too late for that now
you pray just in case
you and God are face to face
he says you're going under
you plead and whine
to live one last time
he thinks something and you wonder
you blind with thoughts of hope
that there is a God or Pope
and now it's two hours priar
You wake in your bed
somewhat short of breath
but don't recall the tire
'It's a miracle' you think
No doubt in what you dream
But still perhaps
It wasn't a trap
And you might have come home with a warning
