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 look at all the living and you ll ask yourself why oh why do we 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 why do we pity the dead 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 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 no friends no judge of wrong or right just eternal silence and dormancy and a final everlasting peace why do we pity the dead are you churned by emotion from voices in your head look at all the living and you ll ask yourself why oh why do we pity the dead 