| Striking up my discordant underture
|
| A carnal cacophony perversely penned
|
| Transposed… and decomposed
|
| On strings fashioned from human twine
|
| Lovingly wound and fretted upon my bow
|
| Garishly incarcerated… the dead resonate
|
| In a final death-throe
|
| Vibrant as I thresh…
|
| Movements scripted for the dead…
|
| Orchestral horrors I vehemently conduct
|
| My corpus concertos cordial
|
| Disinterred… and detuned
|
| With six feet below
|
| In harmony with the deceased
|
| My inspiration… your disintegration
|
| For my latest masterpiece
|
| My score creeps your flesh.
|
| Notes seep from sinewy frets…
|
| But don’t hold your breath
|
| As you wait for your god or the void
|
| Or the abyss of nothingness
|
| Your usefulness isn’t through
|
| Your productivity I resume…
|
| My sordid, soiled handicrafts
|
| Will be your afterlife’s handicap…
|
| …My corrupt crescendos…
|
| …Will leave you out on a limbo…
|
| …Your disposition I unleash…
|
| …You will rest in my piece…
|
| With deadly dynamics
|
| You’re dead, buried and barred
|
| Your remains dampened and fingered
|
| Your mortal coil is barbed
|
| The death-bells are peeling
|
| Ringing out as you flake
|
| Shrieking out their recitals
|
| A celebration of your wake…
|
| Enter my funereality
|
| My world two metres under
|
| A curious habitat
|
| Your muddy trench I plunder
|
| Pass on to ethereality
|
| Churned out under the sextant’s blade
|
| You live your life in wretchedness
|
| And death is no escape…
|
| (Lead: The ascent to eternal pandemonium and tabulature by W.G. Steer) |