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My mate Bill Brown was a dinkum Aussie bloke,
Generous kind and cheerful, with many a funny joke,
Much loved in the community for helping other folk,
But then, he had a stroke,
"For sure it is the will of God" said a humbug priest named Sean,
God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform,
So they shoved Bill in a nursing home in an overcrowded dorm,
And there Bill still doth lie.
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
And how he wants to die.
He can't control his bladder, and he can't control his bowels,
He cannot talk to others for he can't pronounce his vowels,
The poor wretch in the next bed often shouts and screams and howls
But they won't let Bill die.
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
Bill Brown's Body lies a'moulderin' in a home,
But they won't let him die.
If it's God's will that friends like Bill should know such misery,
Then priest, your God is callous, or so it seems to me,
And why priest, why, is your God deaf, to our eternal plea,
For death with dignity.