Mr. Suicide
What kind of a man
What kind of a son
What kind of a guy
Would just up and run
An ill-fated wind
Turned his good luck around
What kind of a man
Would just leave town
So after the fall
The cold winter sun
It seems his best days
Have come and gone
The lights of the train
The cold whistle blows
The sound of relief
From the life he chose
