| The bleak sun rises through the smog stained clouds
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| The day begins in a very somber way
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| The stench of the dead in the Manchester morgue
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| The stench of sterilized deacay…
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| The hideous signal…
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| I open my eyes, livid with sweat
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| Obnoxious film… but where have I been?
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| Strapped to the table, burning fluids course within my veins
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| Mortific eyes cannot dissuide that I see…
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| My plight is realized, I am dead but I see…
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| I feel the pain of the rush of formaldehype
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| The brittleness of my bones
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| And they said I would never live again
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| The buzzing in my brain
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| The never ending pain
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| The hunger I possess
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| Within this rotten mess
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| I break the straps and rise to feed
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| The necrotic fluid bubbles, human viscera I need
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| Corner the fightened doctors, they say this cannot be
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| As I devour their pulsing flesh, their blood will comfort me
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| My cohort rise from their crypts
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| The morgue is in terror
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| Blood rolls from our lips
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| Some mangled bodies strewn in chaotic disarray
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| Breakfast is served at the Manchester morgue
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| The beginning of a horrifying day…
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| No end in sight
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| Our number multiply… |