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