Texty: Forward Russia. Don't Be A Doctor.

You furnish decay with innocent hands
You furnish decay with polymer down
These feathers that bind yourself to itself
Will furnish decay with infinite strength

Enter, left: the coroner.
Right: the body lies unloved
North, south, east, west, up, down:
Here this scene is set.
Stage left lies the bill of rights,
Narrated by an octopus.
Arms wrapped round the doctor?s waist:
Each of the clammy eight

Maybe we could live,
Maybe we could die.
We can but hope and try
To have a son to sing;
Maybe we could talk about it.
We could be the ones that leave
Without correspondence or holy matrimony

Labour and valour don?t sweat for too long.
They pass off the rakes and spades onto their sons.
I cannot believe that their bodies would rest,
That villains would grow in that conjugal nest.
D.C invertebrate quickens his hand:
The pillars of virtue are bleeding with sweat.
The coroner bemoans these darkest of days,
When men such as these should kill. ?Et tu brute?.

At home the wife enquires about the day:

"was fine, my love, I won't see you till late",

as graciously the prison guards prepare the banquet for their new great souvenir.

We looked for the forest but only saw trees.

Exuent.

I see the audience. They're lying on their backs.

You furnish decay with innocent hands.
You furnish decay with polymer down.
These feathers that bind yourself to itself
Will furnish decay with infinite strength.

And when you furnished decay you gave it credibility,
You turned it into a celebrity.
And when you furnished decay you gave it credibility,
But this is what you always wanted to be.

There was something coming from the grave, I wanted you to say that there was something.