So HERE We"re

I"m tired of telling you - I"m dying -
You care not as wiper"s wind.
No use of sensing, sounding and crying -
You won"t react to any hint.

Drive fast. Drive fast to our merry tomb,
Give up the dreams and openings to Death -
He says: "Come here and be lain - the is for you some room".
Don"t let me make, don"t let me take one last unwilling breath.
Convulsions dance before the brain is crashed and doomed...
Don"t let me make, don"t let me take one last unwilling breath.

So here we"re. So  here we go. To hell.
Don"t let me make, don"t let me take one last unwilling breath.