Epicurean pathology Shattered gross anatomy Bodily fluids, foul and septic I sing the body decrepit Your funeral, my feast You’ll never rest in peace Tagged, sectioned, then slabbed Slurp fluids from your body-bag Repulsive, jaundiced flesh - The stomach-turning sight, that I love best Necrosis setting in - Discolored, rotting, mottled skin The weevils writhe and squirm - Your torso now alive with worms As organs liquefy - I whet my abhorrent appetite Your funeral, my feast A masterstroke of rotting meat My dinner table’s where you rest in piece Your funeral, my feast Gruesome garnish, moist carnage Raw bits of human garbage The chunks seep, they won’t keep Gnashing through, as each piece bleeds Your decay, my entrée I wouldn’t have it any other way Maggot millet, stuffs your gullet To please my most deranged of palettes Splenetic, ghastly taste - The stinking savor of pathological waste Trypsin and Pepsin marinate - The loathsome bowels I masticate To dine upon this foul concoction - Requires a taste for extreme unction But for those who have the stomach - We sate our hunger on tripe and vomit Your funeral, my feast A masterstroke of rotting meat My dinner table’s where you rest in piece Your funeral, my feast
[Lead – Matt]
Your funeral, my feastTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
