They Did it to Themselves

One died at the end of a hanging tree,

Another beneath a cold colt .45,

The third hit the ground from a sad swan dive,

And the last did a murder-suicide spree.

I killed all of them myself, but you see,

I did not lay a hand them, dead or alive.

I was smarter than that, I did contrive,

To drive them mad, never let them be free.

First I took away all that they held dear,

All that they loved, their family, their love,

Burned their houses, filled nights with drugged up fear,

I whispered sweet death in their tired ears,

Set the stage, with tender mercy above,

Noose, guns, window- my hands are bloody clear