not long ago there lived a man with one desire
to kill himself was the ambition of his choice
it seems this urge was something that the man was born with
the way some have a way with art or golden voice
and when the cherry blossoms showed themselves in springtime
he'd dream of suicide amidst a blooming tree
I'd have to say that that's a rather modest wish
for after all our lives belong to you and me

he couldn't do it right away, when he was little
so after school he'd sit and watch the trains go by
he would have loved to jump in front of all that power
to end it all, though he dit not really know why
you see he did not want to hurt his loving parents
and so he dropped his precious thought each time it neared
to have a conscience is a blessing and a burden
time after time he wished his conscience disappeared

and so he waited till his parents went to heaven
and he was lucky for they died before too long
but he discovered fate was governed by strange forces
you see to take his life, would do his new wife wrong
he kept a giant jar of sleeping pills beside him
he knew how many it would take to end his life
but every time he counted out the proper number
he looked across the bed and saw Ms loving wife

some years went by, his wife grew ill and soon departed
much to his sorrow he still couldn't end his days
he couldn't sail into that long awaited harbor
because he had a son and daughter still to raise
but the poor man's patience slowly started ebbing
and he dreamed of drowning in an nearby lake
and when he chose the spot where he could end it all
he prayed to god, please, it's just one life to take


a long time passed before he finished all his business
and soon his children, all grown up, had moved away
one night he left his house and headed on his mission
but at the bridge he found a dog, a sickly stray
at first he wished that he could kill this new companion
instead he cared for it until the very end
and as the old man neared his deathbed all he thought of
was what will happen to this sickly, stupid friend

not long ago there lived a man with one desire
to kill himself, a funny goal and yet so real
one could imagine many reasons for his longing
as for myself the urge is something I don't feel
oh to fulfill one's precious dreams is so essential
to live without a dream's like breathing without breath
but all the same, everything worked out quite well
the poor man died a very normal death.