| Only tools and corpses in an easy game
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| I find live people and I play with them
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| I love a scaloel or a stitch or too
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| And the way they cry as the needles pulled through
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| I love operations and the beautiful stench
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| Dissected slowly on my bench
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| Sewn up punctures and gaping holes
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| Keeping them alive so they can feel it all
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| Only tools and corpses
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| Then you open up the wounds where the blood has clot
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| Draining their fluid through beakers and pots
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| No senses left as their blood’s sucked dry
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| Kiss them goodnight and wave them goodbye
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| Only tools and corpses, only tools and corpses work
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| Only tools and corpses, only tools and corpses
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| Opened gashes and visible bone shown
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| Terrified corpses unable to moan now
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| Bloody chunks of my human sacrifice
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| Pulled apart like helpless laboratory mice
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| Laying their cold organs on my skin
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| Fingering the holes where I pushed steel rods in
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| Stroking the liver kidneys and heart
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| Human dissection is a game an art
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| We’ve got some half priced livers sliced
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| Miles and miles of entrails diced
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| Tortured with Bon Jovi and David Bowie LPs
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| I’ve killed thingy and whats-his-name (all my victims look the same)
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| And kept hold of the eyeballs of a mush from Shepherds Bush
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| A bloody fucking mess — All over my nice clean vest
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| Only corpse work |