I once had a dream that I could fly like the wind.
To me it seemed that your love would not end.
It started so great when I thought I could fly,
And if for not fate then we would not die.
But life must mean death and death a part of life,
For every one breath there's always one knife.
A knife or a sword which ever you choose,
But let me just say, "that's how you lose."
To die by the knife or some other way,
To take your own life, is easy I'll say
Cause living your life may just seem so sad,
But really you know, it's not all that bad.
Cause when you find love and you know it won't cease,
All that it does is always increase.
by Richard Workman