Gone

Does it matter to be dead,
to be cut up to blood red,
or watch my pain be shed,
and be sent to my grave, my bed?

No! It doesn't matter anymore,
to be left dead on the floor,
or to see what's in store,
and to lose my life's core,

Yes! Now I will run,
From every single one,
Here I finally will be done,
Now here I take the gun,
Then disappear and be gone.