Relying On A Respirator

Eulogies sing remarkable praise.
My mother can't recognize what's
Safe beneath this vacant face.
I see heaven but it's out of my reach,
Floating between the earth and
Glorified tranquility.

How I wish that I could breathe on my own.
Machines watch closely over
Numbers that remain too low.
Oh, I see Hell coming, but it's
Just not strange enough for me.
Reminds me of home's four walls and
Futile possibilities.

So, why am I dead?
Why am I sleeping?
Why am I dead?
Why am I sleeping?
Why am I dead?
Or why am I sleeping?
Why am I dead?
Or why am I sleeping?

(Oh my God...)
I spoke to Jesus and he told me where I'll be when I die.
The sky would cave in but it's never looked so bright in my mind.
I start to breathe, open my eyes.

(Oh my God...)
One taste of oxygen can drive a man insane before long.
One flaw of character is deciding when and where to go wrong.
I pull the plug and you are gone.