I won’t fight it, just call me home.
'Cause when you’re dying, you’re dying alone.
The burning skies and all the things I’ve seen.
The lacerations and all the things left on me.

Well the birds that sing aren’t loud enough, the songs they cry are out of love.
So I lie alone inside my room with my windows tightly shut.
As I wait for my time to come.

When you’re dying, you’re dying alone.
The fading sentiments, and all the things that I’ve felt.

So I try to dream about all the ones, all the faces that I’ve lost.
But I live somewhere inside myself, I try to speak but my mind is numb.
As I wait for my time to come.