The lingering scirrhus begins to harden As the insides fall prey to putrefaction Rotting tissue turns to mush and pulp As your mind is torn by encephalitis
Your cavities rot with ulcers Your infected inflammations torn Your gizzards eaten by incursive decay You're infernally rotten to the gore...
Juices digested from each pus-swollen pore Insatiable hunger as I feast on the gore Nothing gives me greater pleasure Than a bowlful of chyme Maggot infested kidneys Are what I choose every time
The smell of plaguing infection Is nauseatingly emetic Prolonged spumescence of stale pus Stinks like hot, purtid vomit
Your body is indurate The insides are black as tar Your innards gnawed by septic hate Now a mass of empyaema
Your blood is caked Dried and inconsistent Your bloody rotten gore
