She does her hair, and her face,
She dresses up in black and lace.
She knows what is about to come,
To her, her funeral has begun.
She doesn’t care, she doesn’t cry,
She knows this is the day she’ll die.
On her wrist are scars of life,
Just one second, just one knife.
She stands up, calm and steady,
She knows that she, must be ready.
Holding the gun to her head,
One second passes, she is DEAD.
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