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.