I'm scared that the people at my funeral
Will talk about me with opinions too strong
I'm not scared of their words being mean
I'm scared they'll talk about me wrong
Because when I am gone
They'll say the nice things I did
Whether I do them or not
We're supposed to honor our dead
It's the way that we have been taught
But who says honoring is sugar coating?
I'd rather have people not lie
Because it's people bending truths to fit their own molds
That would give me a reason to die
So tell stories of my wickedness
Of my hatred and my spite
As the way I see it, talk nicely
And I'll be burning in Hell despite.
I'm not scared of dying.
I'm scared of not living enough.
