Are we lying comfortably? I hope that you fear not Your stay here shall be lengthy Depending on just how quickly you rot Apply a quicklime mudpack Hinder circulation Artificially inflicted gangrene Hasten the maceration Rendered impeccably clean Stripped to the ivory core The cleansing of your fetid flesh Revealing the divine gleam of bone Strings of muscle tissue Yanked away with ease Luckily I removed your tongue Im distracted by agonized screams It probably wont hurt too much The sedatives will bear you through The pain eventually subsides When your nerve ends turn to goo Bound to be gored Intravenously fed Destined to rot Your skin to be shed Trimming off loose sinew Your appearance is still a mess My psychopedantic maniacal glee Matches your distress Cleanliness is godliness Unbound by rank decay I admire your skeletal remains As I hose your fetid carrion down the drain
fetid, rot, psychopedantic, maceration, mudpack