The Dead Shall Dead Remain

Our hypothesis carried out on mortal remains

Real-life application tests our conjectures

It seems despite our scientific progress

All we've proven is our abject failures

A foetid stench fills the air

And with a pungent voice declares

Though we prod a cadaver with care

There is no life in there

Altruistic notions aside

And the experiments we've tried

The veracity cannot be denied

There is no cure for those who've died

Rot, waste, spoil, bilge

The cynics did maintain

The dead shall dead remain

Our theory proved insane

The dead shall dead remain

A pallid visage stares in disgust

Through sockets laden with crust

At the bungle it would see in us

If it were not destined to be dust

Turgid corpses received first aid

In our macabre palisade

Volts unleashed in a fussilade

But no twitch from this inert promenade

A canon of soulless masses

Where no animation trespasses

These patchwork men that lie about in heaps

They reaped what we'd sewn, and showed what we reaped

This quartet can no longer sustain

Beleaguered by a fatal admission

Our covent's work in this abbatoir

Blaspheme the sanctity of a physician

Rot, waste, spoil, bilge

The cynics did maintain

The dead shall dead remain

Our theory proved insane

The dead shall dead remain

Critical Condition

I'm still registering a flatline on the EKG - no pulse, no BP.

Is this defibrulator even plugged in?

Affirmative, the monitor shows full power.

Clear!

Increase the drip.

Forget the drip, give me 100 CC's directly into the jugular.

Christ! The infectant's spilling out of his ass.

Abdominal adema -- lower the valve pressure.

Still flatlining, negative brain function.

Ahhh! Remove the ventral sucures and spread the ribs - I'm going directly for the heart.

It's not working.

500 CC's of atrepine now in the right ventricle.

But that's enough to kill him!

Which really isn't a problem, considering he's still dead.

Medical Waste

We have started over the precipice of mortality

And death's gaping maw could not be sated

Our deviant feats could not attain immortality

In shame, we vow our flesh to be uncreated

Putrescence and filth, within our lab and within ourselves

The mocking corpses bloat and distend

This reeking rubbage will dispel

When our lives, by our own hands, we'll dutifully end

In vaporous rooms, veins swell to burst

Anesthesia is applied

Scalpels lick our forearms and wrists

Doctor assisted suicide

Caught in the act, we are red-handed

From the antibrachium, flesh is disbanded

Anti-coagulants of our invention

Will ensure no bloodflow retention

Goblets are filled with the reagent

Our work's micturation

A toast is raised to time spent

On failed experimentation

Noxious salves enkindling throats

Congealing on tongues in coats

With instruments we have fathered

We'll proceed to disembowel each other

Fraternal dissection

Detritus of a cold cook... medical waste

Keech of those that were burked... medical waste

Sweetmeats hung from rusted hooks ... medical waste

Maladroit surgical jerks... we're medical wastes

Lacerated midsections... medical waste

Sucking wounds filling lungs... medical waste

Our avulsed intestines... medical waste

Errorist physicians... we're medical wastes

Our characters are mortally wounded

Teetotaciously rent corporeal shells

And now our blood and grue is self-exuded

For from Icarian heights we fell

Dead Alive

Shrouded by this mortal veil, something has gone wrong

Engaging conscious thought, though we are dead gone

A new beginning to the physiological

But as we decompose, the pain is unbearable

Cellular dissolution, structures in decay

Our systems in disarray

Glistening lividity on exfodiating skin

Living decomposition

From beyond the pale, we survive

The pain of being dead alive

Eyeballs exssicate

As moisture dissipates

The epidermis shrinks

As a countenance sinks

No marrow left to slake

Dried bones as they break

Muscles liquify

As the skelature is nullified

The abdomen distends

With noxious gasses that offend

Organs dessicate

A foul odor we execrate

Four disparate minds converge on one theorem

Merits were to be had for our death-defying serum

Decomposing and gutted, our existence it prolonged

Though we have died, still we live on

Post-mortem torturing, immortal suffering

Pain receptors functioning

I am Chris Zewe

Prone amongst detritus without ambulation

No tomb, no rest, no supplication

We suffer while our nervous systems thrive

The pain of being dead alive

We never wanted to revive

The pain of being dead alive

Coda Morte

[Instrumental]

Impaled:

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 962