Pity The Dead

there's a boy in crimson rags with a grimace and a spoon, and a little sullen

girl face-up staring at the moon

and there's no one around to hear their lonesome cries

then they pass away alone into the night



why do we pity the dead?

are you churned by emotion from voices in your head?

(are you scared of the logic that swirls within your head)

look at all the living and you'll ask yourself why

oh why do we

pity the dead?

pity the dead!



well, you've seen the disease, suffering and decay,

and you whisper to yourself blissfully 'it's okay'

and you still refuse the possibility

that the dead are better off than we



tell me what you see, tell me what you know

is there anyone who lives a painless life?

if there is show me so

the destitute and famished, demonic and the

banished, dejected and the ostracized, the

brainwashed and the paralyzed, the conquered

and objectified, the few who see the other side

tell me what you see! It's a mortal wretched cacophony



in the end you may find there's no guiding subtle light,

no ancestors or friends, no judge of wrong or right

just eternal silence and dormancy

and a final everlasting peace


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