One-fifty-one thousand six hundred people die Everyday 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, even 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 lifeline and behave Or you’ll be filing dandelions before you’ve had your tea break Humanity’s a balance, if this balance isn’t repaid Interns can be inhumed and replace 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 time 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 been racing for the first place But we’ve spend the centuries in the second to the birth rate 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 Dearly indentured We are gathered here today to pay tribute to the life of the department And to welcome him to the office May he rest employed (Hooray!)