We have stared 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 dispell
|
When our lives, by our own hands, we'll dutifully end
|
|
In vaporous rooms, veins swell to burst
|
Anæsthesia 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
|
|
(solo: "Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble" by S.C. McGrath)
|
|
Noxious salves enkindling throats
|
Congealing on tongues in coats
|
With instruments we have fathered
|
We'll proceed to disembowel eachother
|
|
(solo: "Bungled Grind" by T. Spruance)
|
|
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 fillling 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
|
|
(solo: "Live By the Scalpel, Die..." by J. Kocol)
|
(solo: "Voluntary Suicide" by S.C. McGrath)
|
|
-----------------
|
Medical Waste
|
| Impaled |
