I might die tomorrow,
and time will flow onwards without me,
my piano will become lonely and old,
it will become screechy and out of key,
with no one left to play,
I might die tomorrow,
but it's alright,
it's okay.

I might die tomorrow,
and the strings on my guitar will snap,
after the cold fingers of death,
touch my insignificant soul,
and softly carry me away,
I might die tomorrow,
but it's alright,
It's okay.

I might die tomorrow
even if my words are left unspoken,
and if silence lingers when I'm gone,
I will still become nothingness,
and nothing has no words it can say.
I might die tomorrow,
but it's alright,
it's okay.

I might die tomorrow,
and my guitar will be lonely,
and my piano will cry out of key,
it really doesn't matter,
because it will be alright,
and it will be okay,
because I might die tomorrow,
but I live for today.