Please to phone us if you've died
Or thinking of a suicide:
We are offering to cut you
Open, and we hope to gut you:
At which point, you'll be mummified.
We won't erect a pyramid
Nor may we pay you any quid,
But Channel Four, with late-night glee,
May show off your anatomy,
And tip your cap and lift your lid.
If you have brains, then I suppose
We'll hook them through your stiffened nose –
We'll take your lights. The only part
That we will leave will be your heart.
That's the way the mummy goes.
If you are in the Cabinet,
And gazing at the National Debt,
Your head as bubbly as an Aero,
Why not emulate a Pharaoh?
(What better offer could you get?)
Though wholly dead, you'll serve as if
You had the bloodied nerve to live
After you'd been swept aside
By gloating voters in a tide.
(All right. We are conservative.)