| Trapped in the morgue the heart beating high
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| No blood pressure can be measured
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| Spirit off the body, the senses away
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| Suicide calls from hell, the heaven path, who cares?
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| Worms are suppurated from inside out
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| Not even dead the soul spreads its stench
|
| I can Smell the death
|
| I can see the grotesque end
|
| I picture the dismemberment
|
| An image of self hate
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| Feel the pain taking the body, boiling the guts
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| Drain the body until the darkness embraces you
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| Taste the delirium of torture, smile to the dead
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| Cross the threshold of pleasure and pain, red-painted floor, No remorse,
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| only satisfaction
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| Let the demons out
|
| Not even dead the soul spreads its stench
|
| I can Smell the death
|
| I can see the grotesque end
|
| I picture the dismemberment
|
| An image of self hate
|
| No fear to the unknown
|
| Afterlife is the last concern
|
| As the last breath is gone
|
| Not even dead the soul spreads its …
|
| The agony is over
|
| You can see your deceased body lying on the floor
|
| The piece of art is complete for the pictures to come
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| Another dead body that no one cares
|
| Now that you’re dead your corpse spreads its stench
|
| I can Smell the death
|
| I can see the grotesque end
|
| I picture the dismemberment
|
| An image of self hate |