So the poor shall be stacked

In boxes and towers

So they don’t disturb

the good people below,

Sweep them up with a broom

And put them in jars

Neatly labelled and numbered

and stored in a row,

They’ll be safe, out of sight,

And they should be grateful

They must be insane

if they don’t want to go,

But the hospital’s full,

And the jail’s overflowing,

So just give them these pills,

Screw the lid on, and go.

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