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Note: Another product of pondering this story and that. In stories, and sometimes in real life, people who put a toe out of line or are in danger of getting caught by the authorities tend to spontaneously lose their will to live. Funny how that works. 

“Yes, the police said it was an accident. He fell down an elevator shaft. Onto some bullets.” –Mystery Men

 

They found her wrapped in bandages, a mummy from a flick

They found the cordite in her hair, the marks from when she’d kick

They found her in a box outside the governor’s estate

“Suicide,” said the coroner, and then they closed the case.

 

They found the burning papers in the garden of the man

Who was on the lam for decades, playing catch-me-if-you-can

But when the cops caught up, it was his toe they had to tag

“Suicide,” said the coroner, putting pieces in the bag.

 

They found the dirty money paid out just before the drop

They found the buried files and the body of the cop

Who had asked too many questions of a lady and a gent:

“Suicide,” said the coroner. Man’s got to pay his rent.

 

They found, and kept on finding, and the question did arise

How a man bound hand and foot could shoot himself between the eyes

How the governor’s wife was always somewhere nearby, close to hand

Her alibi, impeccable. Her silence, iron-clad.

 

Suicide is painless if already dead when hung.

Suicide is simple when you’ve done what you have done.

And if askers keep on asking, ask the coroner his thought:

“Suicide,” said the coroner, “is easy. Just get caught.”

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