Death Is Nice
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Death is nice, so let’s go there. Death is nice; it’s like a county fair — all the booths, the cotton candy, sadly set up. The faded attractions by the wayside. We enter; we see, not such a bad view. Death is nice; so why not stay here?
We wanted death, or did we not? We came here anyway; so there’s a thought. Packing the family into the car, the checks, the searches, the anything left behind? The coffee pot still on; all of that. We wanted something, so we came here. What we wanted exactly: not so clear.
We came to death, but death is weird. Death isn’t something: death is not. You can’t go to not, but here we are. We came, we saddled up. We drove here in the car.
Death is nice, so let’s stay here. The children are whining though. There’s a fear. What did we want, what did we seek. We came here, we came here; that’s what we know.
Death will happen, it’s not a plan. We came here, we stand here, the faded midway; the colored lights should be better, the attractions that should convince. Aristotle, Plato, Socrates! They told us no fear; but here we are.
They told us no fear, but here we are. We abandoned the car, we abandoned our things. The barker is barking. Step right up, he says.
Death is a carnival, what more do you want? Faded kings, faded glory, try to catch that brass ring. We’re here, it’s nighttime. We have nowhere else to go. We have nowhere else to go. Within the night. Within the night. The lights are going down. Shouldn’t there be more light? We have nowhere else to go, within the night. The lights are going down. But shouldn’t there be more light?