Somewhere in the yard exactly where I cannot say are two mormon missionaries buried in a shallow grave. Rapping at our door in the early morning light. We de just returned from the graveyard and were about to call it a nite. I invited them inside to join us for a cup of brew, My offer they accepted but the brew they refused. They began to sermonize about how we can be saved, By bringing god into our home they threw us into a rage. We showed them how salvation comes with a sledgehammer and a blade, For the rest of the day we tore off their limbs and pale skin we flayed, Then buried the half dead maggot worn in a shallow grave. We had not heard a word of this that is until today. On days of intense heat a foul odor does arise, The stench would gag a maggot, We are forced to deodorize. The wind carries the scent of something gone away, Suspiscions are aroused our neighbors turn a prying eye. The sherrif came a knocking with complaints of our dwelling hole, The nasty smell I explained as compost. He asked to take a look inside, Satisfy curiosity, I felt obliged to grant his wish, We could use some company. As you guessed he did not last long, We cannot help ourselves. For those who approach with ill intent become subjects of our sordid tales. Sickle, Pick and shovel we each take one in hand a mionite mass mosh in the dark to til this rotten land. A treasure trove of organs, bone combined with putrified flesh under the wrong conditions produce a noxious gas. The soil rich and goretified from years of organic decay. Body farm of sorts, Decomposition in all states. For the local cats and dogs we provide a fancy feast, They help destroy the evidence, We give them fresh killed meat, We give them fresh killed meat!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
