The cancer has spread too far,
the mass is too massive to be excised.
The chemo bag is secretly filled with carcinogens.
The pills they charge us a fortune for
are only placebos.
The last doctor died in 1963,
and the man in the white scrubs,
who rubs your hand, and says it will all be alright
is a card carrying servant
of the very cancer he professes to fight.
Nighty-Night little ones,
its time to turn out the light.