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When I was a child I lay in my bed

Consumed by the constant nightmares

Twitching and shaking, holding my head

Absorbed by the fears

And all that I need is some therapy

Someone to hear what I must say

Begging for those to listen

For no one else will

And this therapy is temporary

If I can't save myself

Then who will save me

I must go on, writing this dying man's will

When I grew old and sick in this bed

Slipping out of consciousness

Waking for needles to lay me to rest

Being nursed to death

I am reaching out

Time is growing short

I'm looking for help

Is there nothing else that I can do