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
|
|
-----------------
|
The Dead Shall Dead Remain
|
| Impaled |
