I pointed the gun to my own head
Finally no one to stop me
Hoping I'd soon be dead and free
Then suddenly came from behind, a maid

A foretold unanticipated prophecy
The gunshot gone sloppy
She held her fingers against the trigger and tried to save me

But the bullet went past her arm and straight into her heart
It was me who was supposed to die, the suicidal art
Her once blooming life now fades and torns apart.