[Musick - Mike Beams, Lyrixxx - Matt Harvey]
All the world's indeed a corpse, and we are merely maggots
Dead on arrival
is our only course, and if the toe fits, tag it
Sycophants, we're writhing blind, feeding off each others' regurgitation
whatever waste we find, breeding our degradation with each
Lambs to the slaughter
Feast of fools upon the
No trompe l'oreil to behold
Just a wretched drama to unfold...
Gnarled within this mortal coil
Within which the
voracious feebly toil
Enamored of our own disease
We revel in our own grotesqueries...
Dissecting ourselves to find nothing
Just a mass of perversely animated pieces
Nothing within worthwhile to revive
We're mired knee-deep in our own fetid
Gorging our gnawing jaws with our own pathological waste
Like grubs wriggling in the rank feast of decay
We grind our
own bones into dust each futile step we take
As we inch unseeing through day after day...
Consumer or consumed
We all end up
as chyme and grume
Upon the fetid mass we choke
Leaving us in no position to appreciate the sick joke...
Twisted through this
Now our unctuous desserts are brought to a boil
Somewhere between the living and the deceased
We gag on the feast of
[Lead - Mike]
Too consumed by consumption to see our own ends
We're all dead and only getting
Digging our own graves into which we gladly descend
In this cold coil we're shackled and fettered
As we ingest each
others' waste, in a frenzied feeding rush
Leaving everything sick and dead in our wake
Devouring each other in ravening, unheeding
As we gorge ourselves on all the tripe and offal we can intake...
each others' atrocities
In this grotesquery
Asphyxiated by this mortal coil
Reaping rancid fruits long since
Until our depraved lives at last surcease
We'll hunger for more grotesqueries...