I was born January eleventh, nineteen ninety-six

Now im wondering if what was created was meant to die or be missed

All of us are going to pass on one day

And I cant help but wonder what they’ll say

When they see me set down in the open casket to forever lay

What will they think when I pass away

All living things must die

But will I be happy, or will my life end in a lie?

Life is made of choices even in the end

And you have to choose whether your name lives a short while

Or will be said over and over again

Do you want to be remembered by the whole world for the show you put on

And forgotten by those closest to you for all the wrong you’ve done

Or would you rather be forgotten by every last damned soul in this world

But remembered by the ones who made up your world

Life is made of choices

So ignore all those voices

Inside your head

And choose to listen to the whispers inside your heart

Telling you to never part

From the ones you love