He’d had that thing for years – some dreadful woe –
I can’t remember what it’s called –
I guess he’d had enough, although
I don’t know all the details. Was he bald?
I haven’t seen him for a while; he crawled
Into the doctor’s once, all short of breath;
I would have helped him, but my car had stalled.
They say it was a Mercy Death.

I told my Fred that he must never show
Reluctance, if by sickness I am mauled –
You remember that bad pain in my big toe –
I couldn’t stand it to be hospital’d,
Or in a wheelchair to be hauled
Around, like with his cousin Beth;
I said I’d do the same for him, and he just caterwauled.
They say it was a Mercy Death.

It’s only right that he should know
My feelings, but he looked as though we’d brawled,
Or I had picked up something large to throw;
He just stood there looking quite appalled,
As if he’d had a nasty scald –
As if I’d broken some old Shibboleth;
But no one wants a death that’s slow.
They say it was a Mercy Death.


Prince, you adore the Planet so,
You would cut the population; and like your namesake King Macbeth,
You would find it easier to kill a friend than foe –
You’d even call it Mercy Death.

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