| Know my brother that this is not something which I will enjoy,
|
| One by one send them shuffling down the slope
|
| In a jumble to tied together with string or rope.
|
| In pairs or clustered like the ticks in a dead dog’s ear.
|
| The deceased… the dead… they just don’t care.
|
| You know the dead won’t mind.
|
| They won’t mind if we cut them up into tiny little bits,
|
| If we take away their children,
|
| Throw them into the streets.
|
| Sells them off for science or feed them to the throng,
|
| The dead are easy;
|
| With the dead you can’t go wrong.
|
| Grind their bones to dust to fill in the cracks,
|
| Or hang them up as warnings along the hangman’s rack.
|
| Dead dogs don’t bark,
|
| Nor do dead dogs leave their mark.
|
| The dead are easy,
|
| With the dead you can’t go wrong. |
| But I have to defend what your reckless soul
|
| risks to destroy.
|
| I’d love to love you but there is a knife between us.
|
| You put it there.
|
| I realize that i Hold the handle,
|
| While you stand at the bitter end of this blade between us,
|
| I wish I could,
|
| But I cannot bend.
|
| Even through my burden compels me,
|
| It comforts me in my troublesome chore.
|
| I know you find this gruesome,
|
| Well it’s also something I abhor.
|
| All know the furnace must be fed.
|
| There is a logic to the fact that the furnace must be fed.
|
| There is an infallible logic to the fact
|
| That the clattering bones of the willingly mislead
|
| Is a suitable fuel to light up the dusk that lies ahead.
|
| All men know, and all agree.
|
| I hope that you see my regrets are profound.
|
| This is no wish of mine,
|
| But I am duty bound.
|
| It stands to reason that each wrong must be corrected,
|
| And each straying soul must be collected.
|
| I curse and I howl, but I am duty bound,
|
| So I bury my guilt deep beneath a glorious mound.
|
| I curse you for that knife between us,
|
| That wedge you drove deep down within us. |