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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