Everyone I love is going to die, 
and I will die as well. 
I think about this before I sleep, 
and have since I was a child. 
In my life will I make a difference? 
In my death will I be missed? 
Will I be granted some sort of an afterlife, 
or will I just cease to exist? 
This fear makes me feel so naive, 
I wish that I could just accept, 
but I'm chilled by the redundancy of 
thoughts collected, but not kept. 
Maybe I'm still a stupid little boy, 
too weak to understand what [bad word]  
I want to find peace of mind, 
maybe no mind is the answer to that [bad word]  

Oh I want to be a baby again. 
Oh I want pure thoughts in my head. 
Oh I want to be a baby again. 
Oh I want to forget.