The choice

the idea that we all have chyoices

                             
THE CHOICE:  (5)

                             Upon a broken chair I stood:
                             My body now lays at your feet:
                             Live my life as it should:
                             You cut the cord so nice and neat.

                             Did I have a troubled past:
                             Was my body torn and red:
                             When I died was it fast:
                             Who's to care now that I'm dead.

                             Now on your knees upon wet sand:
                             What were you thinking out loud you cry:
                             My broken body now in your hands:
                             Did you worry, did you try.

                             Oh the many ways do I die:
                             I have to choose, which one to pick:
                             Like tears in anger that I cry:
                             No rope, no gun nor broken stick.

                             No more pain, no more woe:
                             From all this hate I shall be free:
                             To heaven or hell which way to go:
                             Now why the fuck can't I be me.

                             On broken chair there I stand:
                             Rivers of tears stain my cheek:
                             Watching you come take my hand:
                             a promise to help me find what I seek.

                             On broken chair there I stood.
                             ___________________________                    
                             ___________________________