Fistful of Dust

Doctor, sir, professor,

We must open this man

There are things inside him

That the others don't understand


He's got his eyes fixated

His pupils dilated

His tongue is black

I think he's had a heart attack


Now that he is dead

We'll get into his head

While it might sound sick

We'll find what makes him tick


There is blood inside him

Some flesh

Lot of bones

And this something unknown


Sir, this fucker doesn't even have a heart

He is totally, completely missing this part

Just a fistful of dust where that organ should be

Just a fistful of dust