Oh the Merchants of Death are arriving today. Their reasons are many but death is their pay. Is this person unwanted, unloved, or untimely? Is his sex incorrect or his I.Q. not finally Just what it should be? They are sex and race free in their frantic endeavors Everyone’s game for their pop control measures And the best thing about this new genocide Is the victims are all clearly on the inside. Who can see them? It’s just like they’re really not there. Growing hearts and brains and toes and hair. But the Merchants of Death can find use for it all. In lab Twenty-two which is just down the hall. A liver, a heart or some brain cells for sale? It can all be arranged in the overnight mail. They take care of everything neat as a pin. It’s as if this person had never been. They are known by their white coats, their masks or their suits Perhaps even better they’re known by their fruits: A harvest of death, of beings dismembered Whom it’s easy to train yourself not to remember. If they miss you with implant or suction or pill They might try again with your own Living Will! So heed what I say– we will all have to pay, For the Merchants of Death are upon us today.
