There's amnesia in a hang knot,
And comfort in the ax,
But the simple way of poison will make your nerves relax.

There's surcease in a gunshot,
And sleep that comes from racks,
But a handy draft of poison avoids the harshest tax.

You find rest upon the hot squat,
Or gas can give you pax,
But the closest corner chemist has peace in packaged stacks.

There's refuge in the church lot
When you tire of facing facts,
And the smoothest route is poison prescribed by kindly quacks.

Chorus — With an ugh! and a groan, and a kick of the heels,
Death comes quiet, or it comes with squeals —
But the pleasantest place to find your end
Is a cup of cheer from the hand of a friend.

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