Everyone I love is going to die, and I will die as well. I think about this before I sleep, and have since I was a child. In my life will I make a difference? In my death will I be missed? Will I be granted some sort of an afterlife, or will I just cease to exist? This fear makes me feel so naive, I wish that I could just accept, but I'm chilled by the redundancy of thoughts collected, but not kept. Maybe I'm still a stupid little boy, too weak to understand what will come. I want to find peace of mind, maybe no mind is the answer to that condundrum.
Oh I want to be a baby again. Oh I want pure thoughts in my head. Oh I want to be a baby again. Oh I want to forget.