It asks me, why do you want to do this,

what purpose is it for?

Do you feel sorry for yourself?

Is sympathy what you do this for?

And I stop and wonder.

I find a razor in the bathroom,

then my conscience calls.

And I wonder what it could be used for,

an escape to heaven,

or a life behind closed doors?

I pick up a knife,

and my conscience calls,

and it frightens me.

What if it hurts more,

to die than to live,

what if you don't succeed,

and you're scarred for life?

Everytime my conscience calls,

it seems I am about to end my life.

But what if my conscience calls,

when I decide for life?

Gun, razor, knife: out go the lights.

CALDER WOLFE