| Early at mourning I go to the morgue
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| I have my breakfast on a dismembered corpse
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| Dissecting its organs whistling as I work
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| Beholding my carnage, I delight on gore
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| I love my profession as mortuary technician
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| So funny, macabre and sick
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| I am alone when my workdays ends
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| Corpses are my only friends
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| Cemetery at midnight is my favourite place
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| Disturbing the quietus I break open the grave
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| Digging up the coffin, grabbin knife and fork
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| Smell the putrefaction… I feast on the rot
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| Nocturnal party of greedy necrophagia
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| Carving out putrid remains
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| Ingesting toxines from rotting exudate
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| I’m addicted to ptomaine
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| Extracting rancid fats
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| Used as sauce for raw guts
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| Decrepit dinner is served
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| I’m hungry for maggoty flesh
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| Festered offals garnished with gall
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| Gastronomic funeral
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| Delicious taste of dead
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| Gnawned bones is all that left
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| (repeat 2nd verse)
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| Dissect… Exhume… Devour… Vomit! |