Please, please, let me go gently into that good night.

I'm so tired of raging against the darkness that swallows my light.

It hangs over my head, hides under my bed, fills me with dread.

And the people I love, who I run to in fear, they are so dear.

Yet, somewhere deep inside their skulls, are an archive of Chad's new betrayals.

It seems no matter what I do, or try to, no matter where I fly through

I am followed by liars that light fires around me.

Yes, please, burn on. Burn on and become my funeral pyre.

Then shall we see who is left to care? With funeral ash in your lungs and death in the air.

I find it only fair that I might finally see who actually cared.