| Deep within the grave
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| Where the cadaver lies decayed — there lurks the rotting
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| Within every fetid corpse
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| This process festers on its course — to speed the rotting
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| Its ubiquity cannot be denied — a gruesome trade, sempiternally plied
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| From the waste in which we wallow
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| To the flesh we gluttonously swallow — we consume the rotting
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| In rubbish bins of medical waste
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| Awaits the horrendous, wretched taste — of the rotting
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| That first whiff sure to nauseate — and its rancid fruit we regurgitate
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| The rotting’s coming
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| The end it brings
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| The rotting is the destiny of all that’s breathing
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| The rotting’s strumming
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| On your heartstrings
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| The rotting’s coming — 'til you’re the corpse that we’re bereaving
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| In the slither of the grubs
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| The maggots writhing in their chum — there feed the rotting
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| In suppurating stools
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| That dribble ichor into pools — there reeks the rotting
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| The grue that binds us together — is everyone devouring one another
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| The rotting’s coming
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| The end it brings
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| The rotting is the destiny of all that’s breathing
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| The rotting’s strumming
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| On your heartstrings
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| The rotting’s coming — 'til you’re the corpse that we’re bereaving
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| The rotting
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| The humble and the great
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| All consumed by the same fate — become the rotting
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| In its blackening embrace
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| All is eventually erased — by the rotting
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| The putrid waste upon which we’ve built our lives — as we decay,
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| maggots and weevils thrive
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| The rotting’s coming
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| It was here all along
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| The rotting is an acrid, stinking, putrid savor
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| The rotting’s strumming
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| Its discordant song
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| The rotting’s thrumming
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| A defective dirge to scourge your neighbors
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| The rotting |