Why do I bother? I'm going to fail.
Call me "too negative", go ahead,
please. Be my fucking guest.
The line's getting long though,
better be ready to wait.

Because everyone and their brother
wants to knock me down a peg.
"You're a bitch, you're poor,
you're a slut, whore, fuckup."
So please, be my guest.  
Let's knock the bitch down again.

And I could blame my failures
this that and the motherfucking other.
"Poverty sucks, my family sucks,
I'm too stressed, people expect too much,
I'm off of my meds, I have no drive anymore."

So really, why bother?
There's a warm bed not too far from here,
and a bottle of Sudafed with a shot of vodka.
Forgive, forget, sleep and die:
it beckons me.  
And there's a nice hole in the backyard
with a rock on top of it.
Dark, damp, and away from all the worries.
I'll go away for awhile, in my bed.
I won't miss a thing,
and no one will miss a bitch.