Friday, June 30, 2006

The Human Forklift:
An honest to goodness mobile, morgue machine. Not quite the nitro-burning funny car that I suggest; more like a lumbering behemoth of death.

The Human Forklift

When the heat inside the body
Leaks out through every hole,
When the stiff you knew as Harry
Has given up his soul,
When you've got him bagged and tagged
Just like a Christmas gift,
It's time to move him out
You need to get the human forklift.

It's a custom made machine
Designed to take abuse,
When lifting human shells
That are stiff or limbs are loose,
It had a fancy paint job
But now it's stained dull red,
When parked and not in use
It doubles as a bed.

I love to drive that baby
Up and down the wards at night,
I do donuts in the hallways
Laying rubber left and right,
It's all the more amazing
When I'm carrying a load,
I can hardly wait the day
When I'm licensed for the road.

Fibril_late; 10/92

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