Bad Religion - Pity The Dead

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 the 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.

Let's go!

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.

Why do we pity the dead?
Are you churned by emotion from the voices in your head?
Look at all the living and you'll ask yourself, Why?
Oh, why do we pity the dead?

Why do we pity the dead?
Why do we pity the dead?
Why do we pity the dead!