“Resume”
Dorothy Parker
1893-1967 American

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

“Have Mercy”
Steve Earle
1955- American

He was standing on the corner
A hundred-dollar bill in his hand
Said, "I could feed a lot of these people with this
But that ain't the business at hand"
Ain't but one reason for a white boy to be
Over on this side of town
He gave that money to the man and he
Bought a little mercy for now

Have mercy on me
I'm a sinner, Lord, can't you see?
Have mercy on me

Old Joe don't know how it got started
Guess it was the fire in her eyes
He loved his wife and children
And he wasn't into telling all these lies
But she gave herself so freely
In that room at the top of the stairs
He'd go to her in hopes he'd
Find a little mercy there

Have mercy on me
I'm a sinner, Lord, can't you see?
Have mercy on me

Tears are made to fall, hearts made to break
Sometimes it feels like they just want to know how much you can take

She was all alone that evening
What was she thinking about?
Her mind was made up and
I guess it was the only way out
There's a pistol in a pawn shop window
Made of cold blue steel
She took it home to find out
How warm a little mercy could feel

Have mercy on me
I'm a sinner, Lord, can't you see?
Have mercy on me

God knows that mercy ain't free
Have mercy on me

“The Suicide’s Room”
Wislawa Szymborska
1923- Polish
translated by Magnus J. Krynski and Robert A. Maguire

You certainly think that the room was empty.
Yet it had three chairs with sturdy backs.
And a lamp effective against the dark.
A desk, on the desk a wallet, some newspapers.
An unsorrowful Buddha, a sorrowful Jesus.
Seven good-luck elephants, and in a drawer a notebook.
You think that our addresses were not there?

You think there were no books, pictures, records?
But there was a consoling trumpet in black hands.
Saskia with a heartfelt flower of love.
Joy the fair spark of the gods.
Odysseus on the shelf in life-giving sleep
after the labors of Book Five.
Moralists,
their names imprinted in syllables of gold
on beautifully tanned spines.
Right next, statesmen standing straight.

And not without a way out, if only through the door,
not without prospects, if only through the window,
that is how the room looked.
Distance glasses lay on the windowsill.
A single fly buzzed, that is, was still alive.

You think at least the note made something clear.
Now what if I tell you that there was no note --
and so many of us, friends of his, yet all could fit
in the empty envelope propped against the glass.

“Suicide’s Note”
Langston Hughes
1902-1967 American

The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.

“Suicide Is Painless”
theme song to M*A*S*H
Mike Altman
1955- American

Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see

That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

I try to find a way to make
All our little joys relate
Without that ever-present hate
But now I know that it’s too late

The game of life is hard to play
I’m gonna lose it anyway
The losing card I’ll someday lay
So this is all I have to say

The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I’m beat
And to another give my seat
For that’s the only painless feat

The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn’t hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger, watch it grin

A brave man once requested me
To answer questions that are key
“Is it to be or not to be?”
And I replied, “Oh why ask me?”

Suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
And I can take or leave it if I please

And you can do the same thing if you please

“Suicide in the Trenches”
Siegfried Sassoon
1886-1967 English

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.


You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

“The Tempter”
Robert E. Howard
1906-1936 American

Something tapped me on the shoulder
Something whispered, “Come with me,
Leave the world of men behind you,
Come where care may never find you
Come and follow, let me bind you
Where, in that dark, silent sea,
Tempest of the world ne’er rages;
There to dream away the ages,
Heedless of Time’s turning pages,
Only, come with me.”

“Who are you?” I asked the phantom.
“I am rest from Hate and Pride,
I am friend to king and beggar,
I am Alpha and Omega,
I was councilor to Hagar,
But men call me suicide.”
I was weary of tide breasting,
Weary of the world’s behesting,
And I lusted for the resting
As a lover for his bride.

And my soul tugged at its moorings
And it whispered, “Set me free.
I am weary of this battle,
Of this world of human cattle,
All this dreary noise and prattle.
This you owe to me.”
Long I sat and long I pondered,
On the life that I had squandered,
O’er the paths that I had wandered
Never free.

In the shadow panorama
Passed life’s struggles and its fray.
And my soul tugged with new vigor,
Huger grew the phantom’s figure,
As I slowly tugged the trigger,
Saw the world fade swift away.
Through the fogs old Time came striding,
Radiant clouds were ’bout me riding,
As my soul went gliding, gliding,
From the shadow into day.

“Richard Cory”
Edwin Arlington Robinson
1869-1935 American

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.