One by one send them shuffling down the slope
In a jumble to tied together with string or rope
In pairs or clustered like the ticks in a dead dog's ear
The deceased, the dead, they just don't care
You know the dead won't mind
They won't mind if we cut them up into tiny little bits, if we take away their children, throw them into the streets
Sells them off for science or feed them to the throng, the dead are easy; with the dead you can't go wrong
Grind their bones to dust to fill in the cracks, or hang them up as warnings along the hangman's rack
Dead dogs don't bark, nor do dead dogs leave their mark
The dead are easy, with the dead you can't go wrong