My monument is progressing. Bereft is thy deed of completion
By all means you’ll be alive. But not intact. I’ve sewn your lips to smile.
With your own defecation on your lips I’ll knock that shit-eating grin right off your face
Abnormally disfigured designs. You observe the genesis of my abattoir. Reality accepted.
You have no choice but to comply with my scalpel. And my license to kill.
Anal seepage flowing. I can’t repress the urge.
Thy coprophagist shall ingurgiate the filth.
Grinding at your head with my bone saw breaking zygoma. I love these tools at my disposal. I’m alive.
She cried out helplessly again.
I ripped her limb from fucking limb. Just one less slut to walk this fucking earth.
I will spit right in your fucking face.
How does it taste after the lips are sealed below your waist.
You will never fuck again.
My scalpel gleams. My attention cast aside.
Hardening arteries begging for an inimical thrust. Byproducts of digestion soak the floor.
I’m searching for a hypodermic syringe to draw the waste.
Flowing in your jugular.
The heart is pumping faster.
As I lie and wait to watch you erupt from every orifice.
The necrotizing fasciitis has commenced its work.
No anesthesia applied.
This will be everlasting.
In the name of anatomy I shall dismember and attain what is rightfully mine.
Other lyrics by Whitechapel:
A Bloodsoaked Symphony
My conscious froze when I felt the cold embrace of the hand that crafted me I set my soul ablaze, I crawled through the nether and left a suicide letter next to my own …
A Future Corrupt
Forced into my own psychotic prison The future of science bred into my blood The evilest of creatures wish for such empowering traits No one man can inherit a bloodline …
A Killing Industry
It’s been a decade What the fuck makes you think That my mind is the same Cause it’s time for a change This is evolution not a solution To seek out fortune or fame I …
A Process So Familiar
It’s coursing through my veins My heartbeat starts to race and I can’t breathe My composure falls apart, my vision blurs and I can’t see I can’t …
A Visceral Retch
Consume Consumed without a gasp, we gorge into the night as we dance To the curdling whimper of pitiful man Blasphemous, gluttonous The belly begs for a moments rest, …