Make sure there are tears on my face, before you take that picture.

Don't forget that you've been to the place where we all quit, And just linger and help me cut off all the fingers on my right hand. I will bury those dead in the sand. And as we drown, we'll make jokes, at all the suckers in their boats. Time heals what's left of your soul and turns it into gold that God steals, our potential is heat we excrete with our feet on the ground. And I dare you to measure the entropy now. I hope that when I die I choke, on swords of promises that I broke. If you ever laugh again, make it so loud, That even though I try, I can't shut it out. And there's a rope around our necks but atleast we'll be on top for a second, right before we drop.