When life is hell and living a sentence,
When death seems rather such a pleasant thing,
Then why, of living, continue pretence?
Why not have from the precipice a fling?
Why be afraid of loss of consciousness,
The prelude to a most serene silence?
The jump will last a second, even less,
And will end life’s irregular cadence.
Nothing is so precious about my life.
No one will ever miss me, I am sure.
There’s none to mourn me, son, daughter or wife.
For me this life was ignominy pure.
So friends, adieu, I wish you now goodbye.
My home will now be far up in the sky.
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