Supposing that you didn't need to be terminal, is there a queue?
The cop-out brigade would be cashing in - all the others too;
we've had enough, not only illness but silliness and mindless,
lack of care, selfishness and all those who couldn't worry less.

Could reduce the population, no worry about copulation,
have ten kids if you want, economics, spell it with a 'C' decision;
clear the housing list, no one's bothered if you even get ******,
so convenient,Trumps kissed, played last hand in knock-out whist.

The queue is mounting outside that room in Switzerland mon ami,
I'm fed  up with my life, I'm going before you can sentence me,
how ironic, free up the prisons, no need for any more decisions,
although cemeteries filling, keep my ashes unless other visions.

The ultimate in democracy, free will, but others moaning still,
there's a waiting list, might die before I die - on Calvary Hill.

It's beyond you, in the sky no matter how hard you try,
like transient love that visits you and then waves goodbye,
I grasped its tail, grappled and refused to let it go,
it was there for me, procrastinated and gave me a tow.

The magic rubbed off, lifted me up, placed me in a golden bowl,
at that moment all is clear when you can see inside your soul,
things not noticed before as tho' someone opened a velvet door,
what do you wish to see, air and light, who could wish for more.

You can not disbelieve when you fail to perceive or want to leave,
'oh what a wicked web we weave when we practise to deceive;'
the air was misty blue, light like a feather, wondered whether
I deserved to be cloaked when supernatural spirits came together.

They armed me with perception but you have no recollection,
how powerful, doubts removed, returning to Earth was my decision.

Don't you ever listen - enough to make my ears burn,
I went back - there were lessons and now it's my turn;
You treat people as you would expect them to treat you,
take stock, go thro' this life, don't mess up, whatever you do.

Why did I do the things that hppened, was it just me?
Broken hearts, scattered lives, , it really was a mystery,
you think - I'm not a bad guy but lack responsibility,
I suppose be thankful, could have been worse, that's me.

A free prisoner, could have been locked up, no room now,
for indiscretions, poor decisions, but too late anyhow;
ironic, I married a teacher but you don't listen to her,  
so many times and then it's just gone when they occur.

I'm left eating sweets in a corner like Little Jack Horner,
write on the white board boy - be contrite and never forget her.