The art of suicideNightgowns and hairCurls flying every which whereThe pain too pure to hideBridges of SighsMeant to conceal lover's liesUnder the archesOf moonlight and skySuddenly easyTo contemplate whyWhy...Why live a lifeThat's painted with pityAnd sadness and strifeWhy dream a dreamThat's tainted with troubleAnd less than it seemsWhy bother botheringJust for a poemOr another sad song to singWhy live a lifeWhy live a lifeThe art of suicidePretty and cleanConveys a theatrical scene"Alas, I'm gone!" she criedAnkles displayedMelodramatically laidUnder the archesOf moonlight and skySuddenly easyTo contemplate whyWhy...Why live a lifeThat's painted with pityAnd sadness and strifeWhy dream a dreamThat's tainted with troubleAnd less than it seemsWhy bother botheringJust for a poemOr another sad song to singWhy live a lifeWhy live a lifeLife is not like Gloomy SundayWith a second endingWhen the people are disturbedWell they should be disturbedBecause there's a storyThat ought to be heardLife is not like a gloomy SundayWith a second endingWhen the people are disturbedWell they should be disturbedBecause there's a lessonThat really ought to be learnedThe world is full of poetsWe don't need any moreThe world is full of singersWe don't need any moreThe world is full of loversWe don't need any more...