Assassinate

A razor's blade that's shining red,

A shower that's become death's bed;

A knife that slices right through skin,

A wrist where pain just starts to begin;

A little pill that swallows you down,

Your own blood in which you drown;

The oncoming train that doesn't see you,

Once off the cliff all above is blue.

All these ways seem good to die,

But none of these do you try.

A gun held tight between your teeth,

Your assassin you needn't meet.