A hammer to drive the chisel in A chisel to alter bone and skin An algid stiff to now provide A link to where the soul resides
That still hearts should pulse with ichor Is an ethical dilemma to be sure That a body can be made to function Is an enigma to decipher without compunction That the dead may in mere slumber lie Is a query that begs us to coax a reply That rotting lungs shall heave with breath Is truly a matter of life and death
The ressurectionists The ressurectionists... no more death after life
Augers employed to crack and peel Gilding steel teeth with paste of bone meal Their skulls disassembled and scored With sanguine expectations, meticulously gored
To reconnect nerve filled clusters Our encaphalic skill, we muster To reinstate arterial paths Our hands engage in a blood bath To reset joint and bone Our mending powers are hewn To restart cardial beating Our defibrullator is heating
The ressurectionists The ressurectionists... no more death after life
Intra-venously dripping a potion To rekindle locomotion
Old hat at plundering lifeless shells But I shall never get used to the smell
Sutures of catgut carefully stitched Securing intestines in torsal pitch Along the sciatic, nerves are defrayed In our conclave, bodies remade
This brain in a solution submerged From a cranium we've purged This jellied ganglia to reconnect From the medulla to the neck This artery and vein shall rehydrate From pulmonary functions we'll resuscitate This human tabula rasa we've sewn From it, coaxed, secrets to life unknown
The ressurectionists The ressurectionists... no more death after lifeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
