"come on, get up, get down with the sickness" as told to me by a four year old boy named gene

[mywilltodie]

holiday tidings, i bring cheer to this office room

so cold,
so bleak,
my soul begins to sneak
into the afterlife.
I'm fading away now,
my bones begin to bruise,
this life was not for me,
now it's time for tea,
the very final tea.

the echos of my soul,
now i've got to go,
so long, farewell,
maybe we'll met up in jail or hell or the clocktower bell
so far I am gone
now I am gone
and we all must move on
sing me a song

Bye now, I have to go buy a multicolored armband for my ipod nano-scan-o.