One-fifty-one thousand, six hundred people die every day on earth
And if that's not a reason to cry
Well... it's an awful lot of paperwork
It's your first day at work, how've you settled in?
Shaken off the rigor mortis? Sorted out your pencil tin?
Welcome to our newest resident skeleton
What better heaven than a desk to spend forever in?
Now your body may be shrivelled up and worthless
At least we know your funeral will be a civil service
Persons so superfluous are living on the surface
It's nothing so perturbing, we're just trimming off the surplus
It isn't murder if you cause a little accident
We prefer to word it as some mortal middle-management
There's the door, we've got millions of applicants
Dying for some corporate incorporeal entanglement
Everything living has to die
But to die you need not apply
We'll find you
When your time's through
Take a number, wait in line
Live your life and we'll be right behind you
Nothing's certain but death and taxes
So I guess you'd better get some practice
Nothing's certain but death and taxes
So I guess you'd better
So I guess you'd better
You've got targets to prove yourself
Here's some targets, peruse yourself
Shoo a few humans off the mortal shelf to the floor
We'll be polishing the coffins as you off a couple more
We need a botanist, two paleontologists
A newspaper columnist whose views may be communist
A shoe salesman, possible balloon hobbyist
Just another couple popped clogs for your shopping list
No slacking on the grave packing, ever more to kill
Death row deplorables, incurables and 'sort of ill'
Every person, animal and plant has a form to fill
We've got departments solely tasked with killing chlorophyll
So of course you will toe the life-line and behave
Or you'll be filing dandelions before you've had your tea break
Humanity's in balance, if that balance isn't repaid
Interns can be inhumed and replaced
Everything living has to die
But to die you need not apply
We'll find you
When your time's through
Take a number, wait in line
Live your life and we'll be right behind you
Nothing's certain but death and taxes
So I guess you'd better get some practice
Nothing's certain but death and taxes
So I guess you'd better
So I guess you'd better
Ashes to ashes, nine to five
The light in the tunnel has been privatised
Robes were so behind the times
These obituaries don't give any time for scythes
Population moderation's not the worst fate
Your occupation's the salvation of the hearse trade
For generations we've b
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