“I’m worried bout you,” she said.
I responded with silence.
Who is she to want to help?
Is it that obvious that I’m dying?
I wish she would go
Away. She doesn’t need to care.

That’s the problem – they all care.
Over and over again they’ve said
I have to go,
But why can’t I just sit in silence
And sweetly dream of dying?
I don’t need their help.

Pitying me won’t help
Anyways. They don’t even care.
They all know I’m dying,
(And they swear they can’t stand my silence)
But they’ll be glad when I go.

Don’t they understand? I won’t go
To that ugly old “help”
Center filled with crazy people’s silence.
Those people surely don’t care.
In that place, everything I’ve ever said
Would be used against me to stop me from dying.

But who decided that I’m even dying?
I can still choose whether I go
Or listen to the things said
To me. I could take their help
And accept their care.
I wouldn’t have to live in silence.

But I’m scared to leave the silence.
I’m scared to stop dying.
Oh god… it sounds like I care.
Maybe I don’t really want to go.
Maybe I should take the help
And listen to what’s being said.

I’ll admit I care, but I won’t go.
But in my silence I do want help.
“I’m sick of dying. Help me live,” I said.