when it all gets too much,
and there's no way out,
there's always a dream of a sun beam.

off with the pulse,
now sleeping,
a way off memory of things beeping.

all quiet now,
at peace,
succumbed to the final release.

back to the cycle,
of ever decreasing,
locked in gravitational descending.

when to be free,
from this misery,
no more suffering or diseases.

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there's always death...