I'm dying; I'll be dead real soon.
Well, ya know, whenever god decides to
Kill me off, probably when I'm forty,
After I've had my 19th and final
Mental/Nervous Breakdown.
My heart will rupture from stress,
And I will die…
…in my car…
…blocking all kinds of traffic…
…screw the public…
…they never liked me anyway.
While in heaven,
I will be greeted by Jesus and she's a
Black/Spanish Woman.
She'll say “hi” in a language unknown to me,
But I'll grin like a moron until the miracles
Of medicine and doctors miraculously bring me back to
life, to live a life
with a pacemaker…
…and no more salt…
…or sex…
Oh god, take me now!
Still, I'll know that Jesus was a chick
And that heaven has no clouds
And there is no hell,
Because I've sinned with the best of them
And I was more than certain that hell
Was a place I'd someday see.
Knowing me, I'd sleep with the devil…
…but he'd be unwilling…
…so I'll spend the rest of my days
worshipping small kittens,
because kittens hardly lie to you…
So yeah, I'm dying…slowly over the span
Of a few crummy decades…
Having thrown out all faith to hell,
I know that I'll meet my maker,
And he'll be hella good looking, he'll be god,
He'll be gay and when I do meet my demise
It'll be a mind-numbing day…
…I'll be mowed down
by catholic preachers Lamborghini…
…at night, in the cold rain,
because he read this poem…
  …and claimed that I stole his silent thoughts.