Is it a demon come to me,
Or an angel in disguise?
It preaches freedom; an end to worldly affairs,
If only I would but give a drop for it.
One turns to two, and three to five, until the price of one drop is paid for by a hundred thousand more.
What voices linger 'round life's bend now, when but one drop remains to give?
Demons? Angels in disguise...?
What does it matter now, when I have but one drop left?
This last, precious drop leaves me feeling fuller and more complete than it and all it's lost companions together.
It leaves me with visions of the end of affairs; of freedom itself.
The last drop, so seductively wanting to slip right out of me,
And to name this sweet, sweet act something foul.
To name it Suicide.
And as the sweet turns to foul, and the last drop rounds life's bend, I can swear I hear voices...
But are they of angels?
Or demons...?