Johnny Ortiz wrote plays, you see, about the human condition
Tried to analyze all the feelings inside and bring them to fruition
As he drank his cup of coffee and he wrote his script
He took a bottle of pills and quickly emptied it
And he fell out of the chair with his pen in hand
And his last line of dialogue was, "Life is Grand"
And the following morning his director opened the door
He's caught off guard, but he's not surprise 'cause he's seen it before

And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets
None of them were ever real good talkers so they'll do great in their caskets
They never worried 'bout worrying 'bout anything till their worries finally got to them
And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets

Gwendolyn James makes audiotapes to calm the people down
But ironically she just can't seem to turn her own frown upside down
And one day she finally cracks and cracks open a shell
Unravels the tape and she says "Oh well"
Ties a noose from the flat plastic audio
And she thinks to herself, this is the right way to go
And she steps off the box and lets her body hang
Her final liner notes read "I've always been feeling this way"

And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets
None of them were ever real good talkers so they'll do great in their caskets
They never worried 'bout worrying 'bout anything till their worries finally got to them
And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets

Ellen and Ben are in love again but their relationship is taking a turn
And it's not for the better so they each write a letter hoping that this will all work
Ellen signs it with "I love you" and Ben does too
They send 'em off in the mail and when it gets through
They're both reading and crying 'cause they realize
They can't salvage what they have unless they die
They meet up at an empty dock by the city bay
Share one final kiss then they put a bullet in each other's brain

And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets
None of them were ever real good talkers so they'll do great in their caskets
They never worried 'bout worrying 'bout anything till their worries finally got to them
And all the suicidal self-help authors get along with the dead poets