Instrumental.

In my waxen world, time stands still
Forever frozen like flies trapped in amber
One perfect moment preserved, just ere the kill
Gruesome atrocities transfixed in horror's chamber

Poetry without motion, figures stranded midstream
Waxen players in this dark drama of the macabre
Mouths agape with terror but breathless to scream
No death rattle heard, nor parting sors...

I am preserver of life through my morbid art
For each mannequin was truly alive from the start
So if the eyes seem to follow your gaze as you gawk
Know that in the eyes of the dead, in their shadow you walk...

Cadavers molded in wax as their lives buried away
More preening puppets to perform in the scenes that I play
Features cast in the moment of dying preserved
How they screamed as they met with their fates well deserved...

WAXWORK

Recreating the horror of the moment of death
My models serve their purpose quite well
Embalm their bodies in wax, capture their dying breath
Drain the fluids to stave off the smell

Like dolls that dance to their own funeral dirge
They play out their death scenes interminably
As prized their exhibits in my dark reserve
They unfold their secrets only to me

Life eternal in wax was their death's decree
Suffering for my art, they surrendered to me
So when their eyes lock with your gaze
Look unflinchingly at death or turn away fast...

Skin blistered and softened as it was coated and sealed away
Another preserved puppet to prance on the strings that I play
The fear ensnared in their captive countenances I've trapped
Mummified and memorialised in wax well-woven and wrapped...

WAXWORK

So sit still in your place at the end of the blade
By my design, death's hand find you just out of reach
Another player in this deathly silent world that I have made
Devoid of sound, fury or motion, sense, movement or speech

Awaiting a terminus that never will come
You're a marionette bound by my strings
Trussed in this tomb of wax, your time here is not done
For time does not quite end all things...

This is my life's work, this still, silent place
A monument to the fear frozen in a cold, waxen face
Take care not to stare into their eyes, whatever you do
When you look deep into death, it sees back into you too...

Flesh bubbled and scalded, as this molten bath washed life away
Wax covered my still-screaming prey
Another piece for my prizing, recast in my mold
Features harden and set as the wax grows stiff and cold...

WAXWORK!

Pernicious - A ghastly Gordian quandary to elucidate
Pestiferous - A nebulous necrotic novelty to navigate
Labyrinthine - A contumely carnal conundrum to cogitate
Serpentine - An exulcerated entanglement to execrate...

Hands stained and filthy from digging deep for the answer
That lies at the heart of the matter of splatter...

Eschatological - The grave matters with which we struggle
Pathological - The perverse perpetuation of this purulent puzzle
Repugnant - The wretched riddle unravels in a reeking revelation
Repulsive - The final fetid farce yields such a rancid realization

Now your morbid curiosity may finally be answered
Deep in the heart of the matter of splatter...

A morbid matter on which to meditate or mutilate
A deathly detail to deliberate and desiccate
A sombre study in which sagacity is tantamount to insanity
An insalubrious interest in the inhumed and the unsanitary...

An unhealthy pursuit of the purulent and parturient
A feculent fixation upon the fetid filth and excrement
An exhaustive examination of the excreted and the exhumed
A tireless appetite to hill the silt atop the tomb...

Nebulous - The sanguineous solution is seldom seen before the last
Amorphous - Seemingly always six deep feet beyond your grasp
Funereal - Carnal cartography to chart the course of life's denouement
Corporeal - The wretched revelation that you sought proves harder to swallow
than you'd thought...

That anatomy is destiny is the unforgiving answer
Culled from the heart of the matter of splatter...

Scalpels cleave and reave though crimson rivulets
Weaving their cold and malignant minuets
Carving out funereal figures in arcane alphabets
Scars that will never heal or forget...

Like puzzle pieces, set askew, you've come undone
The bleeding is ceaseless, you're turning blue, the end had begun
Set down in writing, flesh, blood and bone, let death be done
The pen is as mighty as the sword, sticks or stones,
Your end would be cast in stone, by either one...

Tenderly thanatographical threads are tread and traced
Boiling blood will serve to warm this cold clinical embrace
A clean precise cut to mark this morbid meeting place
This knife - point where you and death came face to face...

The slab starts to spin around and around, as I take your hand in mine
We move step by step within, without so much as a sound,
Death's dark design in time
A slice to the left, then cut back to the right,
Movements scripted in this dance of the dead
Motions so deft, recalled by touch not by sight,
Footprints encrypted by blood running red...

A pirouette on razor's edge leaves you breathless
The slab plays host to an incisive macabre ballet
A savage, slicing slaughter of the senses
Now splayed...

Under the knife - your death hangs in the balance, on the edge of the blade
Remember every slice - of this jigsawed demise, and every part that I payed
Cold steel burns like ice - leaves you dancing on nothing, loosed by
unsteady hands
Under the knife - The caress of steel, just before the end...
Just before the end...

A bleeding patchwork design, in running scarlet writ
Connected wounds intersecting from slit to bloody slit
Such a tangled web of shreds and scars I've knit
The liquid of life, leaks out through the red at your wrists...

May I have this last dance? As I take your last breath
With a final flick of my wrist...

Under the knife - your death hangs in the balance, on the edge of the blade
Remember every slice - of this jigsawed demise, and every part that I payed
Cold steel burns like ice - leaves you dancing on nothing, loosed by
unsteady hands
Under the knife - The caress of steel, just before the end...

Your dry throat creaks without a saliva to sputter
As your pulpy dehydrated tongue soundlessly threshes
Days without sustenance spent shackled and fettered
Emaciated torso aches for the warm taste of flesh...

I will make a meal of you, your hunger I'll sate
Saw off your leg at the knee to put on your dinner plate
Try not to wince at the pain that you feel
As I mince up your calf to prepare your next meal...

Cauterise the gargled wound to stave off the haemorrhage
You should savor the thought of your repast
Choke down this bitter meal in spite of your revulsion
Though how long can your source of food last?

Keeping yourself alive as you're force-fed your own flesh
If you don't eat up, you're truly dead meat
Legs turned to stumps, bloody drinks gargled in clumps
In this case you really are what you eat...

Autophagus Gluttony
Culinary Pathology
Dietary Butchery
Consuming Impulse

Ingest your corpse to be...

Quadriplegic you feed as your dinner is served
Waste not ; want not, though there's not much to conserve
Severed and severely served upon a platter of splatter
After a while the source of the sustenance barely even matters...

Now a half-eaten torso gorged to the glut
Piece by piece you are fed the chicest cuts
As the dinner-bell rings your bloody chops are feverishly licked
At the sight of your own roasted fat turned and browned on a spit...

Your own meat in your mouth tastes bitter and internecine
Noxious and moist, you get a taste of your own medicine
Gnashing, pieces of your limbs with delight
Digesting your death with each grotesque bloody bite

What's eating you? The question seems to moot
Scraping chunks of your feet out of your blood-soaked sopping boot
Bash open bones picked clean to suckle at the marrow
As your culinary milieu of options inexorably narrows...

Autophagus Gluttony
Culinary Pathology
Dietary Butchery
Consuming Impulse

Ingest your corpse to be...

Feeding time comes again, the thorax falls victim to this slaughter
Blood, pus and sebum replace wine, whiskey and water
Sometimes survival will cost you an arm and a leg
Your spittle running, red with bits of reeking bloody dregs...

Masticate your own genitals, choke on your bludgeoned testicles
With a hunger that will not be denied
The sweetest of meats is your soft, fatty teats
That I'll be stuffing your face with tonight

Puking up your own skin, just to devour it again
Is a treat you'll save for dessert
Fresh meat for your lunch, fibula cracked, drained and crunched
As your overstuffed gullet gasps and blurts...

Your crudely resected anatomy is a wretched grisly sight
But your stumps once arms just whet your appetite
Nibbling at the sinews of your bloody forearms and wrists
Ravenously devouring your shredded survival in fleshly chunks and meaty
bits...

Eviscerate yourself to gnaw at your own intestines
Bones from severed fingers facilitate this haphazard self-dissection
Clutch at grume inside your bowels with half-eaten grubby stumps
Pulling out the repugnant meal in grotesque tumescent clumps...

Remaining fingers prying off your succulent gouged out gums
Gnaw at your stringy cheek lining and masticate your insatiable tongue
But the pieces you ingest in carnivorous abandon
Fall out of the gaping that you have torn in your intestines

Gnash the meat from your avulsed face in a frenzied rush
No genitals, no feet, no legs, no appendage left uncrushed
Half-eaten tongue oozes spittle down your face - your hunger undiminished
Only when your partially devoured innards prolapse will this meal at last be
finished

Autophagus Gluttony
Culinary Pathology
Dietary Butchery
Consuming Impulse

Excrete your corpse to be...

All the world's indeed a corpse, and we are merely maggots
Dead on arrival is our only course, and if the toe fits, tag it
Sycophants, we're writhing blind, feeding off each others' regurgitation
Disgorging whatever waste we find, breeding our degradation with each
exhalation...

Lambs to the slaughter
Feast of fools upon the fodder
No trompe l'oreil to behold
Just a wretched drama to unfold...

Gnarled within this mortal coil
Within which the voracious feebly toil
Enamored of our own disease
We revel in our own grotesqueries...

Dissecting ourselves to find nothing alive
Just a mass of perversely animated pieces
Nothing within worthwhile to revive
We're mired knee-deep in our own fetid feces

Gorging our gnawing jaws with our own pathological waste
Like grubs wriggling in the rank feast of decay
We grind our own bones into dust each futile step we take
As we inch unseeing through day after day...

Consumer or consumed
We all end up as chyme and grume
Upon the fetid mass we choke
Leaving us in no position to appreciate the sick joke...

Twisted through this mortal coil
Now our unctuous desserts are brought to a boil
Somewhere between the living and the deceased
We gag on the feast of our grotesqueries...

Too consumed by consumption to see our own ends
We're all dead and only getting deader
Digging our own graves into which we gladly descend
In this cold coil we're shackled and fettered

As we ingest each others' waste, in a frenzied feeding rush
Leaving everything sick and dead in our wake
Devouring each other in ravening, unheeding crush
As we gorge ourselves on all the tripe and offal we can intake...

Crass menagerie
Eschatological estuary
We create each others' atrocities
In this grotesquery

Asphyxiated by this mortal coil
Reaping rancid fruits long since despoiled
Until our depraved lives at last surcease
We'll hunger for more grotesqueries...

Extrapolating from the abhorrent, we disinter a sordid truth
Heinously plundering death's depths like a bumbling violent sleuth
Tearing through the layers of decay with vicious rancor and bitter scorn
To get at the cold, dead heart of the matter which we bring forth to
mourn...

Carnage canonized - We let death reign unfettered
Derangement eulogized - To the last bloody letter
No one can do it better...

In grisly detail we play out or own death scenes' coup de grace
With homicidal zeal we remove the curtain that decorum would draw
Retrograding your morality in our sick, dead world, it had no place
Desecrating your sense of dignity, but of course in the end, it's all a
matter of (dis)taste...

Your values mollified - severed by clean, precise cuts, each to the last
Your senses vilified - taste and tolerance are now taken to task...

In the name of gore, we'll set right this bloody score
The grave can't hold us anymore, we'll kick in the mausoleum doors
Even sicker than before, we enjoy this gruesome chore
Revealing the ghastly horror, the face of death that you deplore
Rotting through the core, this slaughterous carnage you abhor
Is the vocation we adore, as we drain another oozing sore
Bringing revulsion to the fore, as the vomit stains on the floor
FOREVERMORE - IN THE NAME OF GORE...

Stopping at nothing to indulge an off-color sense of tumor
We regurgitate force-fed atrocities straight onto a silver platter
Serving up ghastly repast hard to swallow without black humor
With tongue in cheek we gorge on the matter of splatter

Leaving no headstone unturned and no gravesite unmarred
Our wayward journey six feet straight down we undertake
Dark horses tread swiftly through this unhallowed danse macabre
Somnambulating through our own nightmares while fully awake...

Never letting sleeping cadavers lie, we wring out their sickening stories
Though lending a near and a voice to the dead would make some wince
No detail is omitted, no matter how repulsive, vile or gory
We won't recant our morbid epithets, flesh, not words, is what we mince...

Decay by any other name would reek and fester just the same
We delight in beating a dead corpse in its own malignant game
Slicing off another cutting remark that could shear off protruding bones
Our barbs are quite malicious and our verbal daggers sharply honed...

Decay consecrated - wallowing in our own pathological waste
Reality regurgitated - and smear right back in your fucking face...

In the name of gore, we'll set right this bloody score
The grave can't hold us anymore, we'll kick in the mausoleum doors
Even sicker than before, we enjoy this gruesome chore
Revealing the ghastly horror, the face of death that you deplore
Rotting through the core, this slaughterous carnage you abhor
Is the vocation we adore, as we drain another oozing sore
Bringing revulsion to the fore, as the vomit stains on the floor
FOREVERMORE - IN THE NAME OF GORE...

Upon a knife's edge, your sanity stretched
Nerves wrenched on the rack
A step beyond the ledge, sends you headlong into madness
With no turning back...

Arcs of light to penetrate you - stabbing picqueristic feints
Gleaming blight to perforate you - throbbing voyeuristic taints...

Each atrocity exacerbating, upon a carnal continuum
They careen unhindered
Each animosity accelerating, as any shred of sanity
Is systematically splintered...

Gouging slashes to perforate you - in a bind you're peeled and silvered
Maiming gashes to truncate you - you're signed sealed and delivered...

Arcing violence apexes with deadly consequences
Trapped in its blind blight, your death revealed in the arclight...

Dehumanized, objectified, unsanctified, anatomized...
Uncreating, unabating, underhanded, undertaking...

Underhanded, undertaking...

Insensate, inanimate, I mutilate, 'til I ejaculate
Unforgiving, unfeeling, unveiling your undoing
It was your destiny to die for me, your anatomy, will fuel my fantasies
Reliving, revealing, reviling, your dying... your dying...

Your final moments spent in fetters
And after death you'll be dismembered
Body parts to torment, to incite me to remember
These bloodstained memories crystallized forever...

Irons and chains to degrade you - as each instant grows inexorably worse
Knifepoints and members to invade you - stinging wounds brand my name on
your corpse...

Tearing at chunks postmortem
Your breasts fall prey, to mandibular avulsion
Feeling a swelling at the base of my scrotum
There is only arousal, where there should be revulsion...

Heavy manacles to immobilize you - the better to act out my whims unabated
As a cannibal I'll immortalize you - until my appetites next needs to be
sated...

Eternally apexing arc of violence, brings a bevy of consequences
At the continuum's end with no end in sight, seeing only death in the
arclight...

Calcified infant is a breach birth debacle
Natal necrolysis, destined for a formaldehyde-filled bottle
Caesarean section reveals the ghastly tot
An ossified infant, in its womb borne to rot

Livid and stiff ere its first breath is claimed
The rigid bundle of joy, catatonically maimed
Cold, dead and hard as it's exhumed from the womb
The uterus its cradle, and its moist fetid tomb...

Only scalpels left for playthings
Swaddling clothes bloody but not from chafing
Baptism by embalming solution
As the trocar facilities the cold blood's dilution...

Festered fetus drawn from the cavity in which it was conceived
Birth and death now unified, as the grotesque infant is retrieved
Livid osteopedion, breathless lungs still, cold and dry
Birth is just a forensic folly when in being born one dies

Birth and death in one fell breath, extract the corpse from her guts
The morbid birthing cavity is lavaged, torn and cut
Another tiny life that ended before it could begin
Another piece of human offal, to end up in the rubbish bin...

Neither gurgles nor cries escape its lifeless blue lips
Placenta disgorges amniotic fluid as the umbilical cord rips
Morbid nursery chymes fall on deaf little ears
As the dry-eyed infant incites parents to bitter tears...

Obstetric atrocity
With a casket for a crib
Nursery for an autopsy
Body bag for a bib...

Hush little baby, don't say a word
Mama's going to have to get a casket reserved
But if your body is too decomposed
The coffin door will have to stay closed

A babe in her arms
Not safe from harm
When the water breaks, the cradle will rot
A nursery chyme with no happy ending, left in the wastebasket,
Dead and forgot...

Another corpse to carve for pathologists and their ilk
Nursed on embalming fluid, no use crying over silt mother's milk
Silent baby rattles stilled
The doctor's gloved hands deliver the babe into a grave that now is filled

Morbid anatomy technicians are the child's only playmates
Callously dissecting, the infantile inanimate
A bloodied dissecting table serves as the young one's tomb and trundle
As inquisitive butchery, splays this joyless rotten bundle...

Dead before ever being alive to die
Eyes closed forever ere the first tear could dry
Mouth sealed by rigor mortis before the first newborn cry
Dissected infant on the table, dead-cut and dry...

Newborn fatality
Whose playpen is a slab
Lifeless nativity
Diminutive toes to be tagged...

Now I lay you down to sleep
Your putrid flesh not long to keep
If you should rot before you wake
Then leave your corpse for the worms to take

In the cold corridors in the sterile, dead morgue
Sobs are heard from the maternity ward
But from the mouth of babes, no sound escapes
In this nativity obscene behind mortuary drapes...

Strike my name from the book of life
Inscribed forever in the book of death
Destroyer, life-taker, the end and the omega
Death walks behind you, waiting to find you to dismember...

The bloody work of death is not too great a task
All this and more, I now hold in my grasp
Like the fear that holds you fast, like the last breath you cannot gasp
Your end comes slashing down, your death revealed at last...

Ends such as yours are the trade that I ply
Stricken by death as your life flashes by
>From an autopsy, to a cemetery, then to the grave, your final destiny
Carnage and sin are my blood, kith and kin, and to your end, they will be...

As all begins, so all must end, now your end I shall begin
From dust to dust, return again, life ends in sin
The circle turns back on itself, life ends in death and pain and hell
And dead men have no tales to tell, nor souls to sell...

Death walks at my right hand, and there's a knife-blade in my left
Turning living into dying, soon to be friends and mourners crying
Dispossessing the flesh, leaving death
But no clues for the finding...

The bloody work of death is not too great a task
All this and more, I now hold in my grasp
Like the fear that holds you fast, like the last breath you cannot gasp
Your end comes slashing down, your death revealed at last...

The ashen grey muse commissions a new verse
A song to while away the long sojourn in the hearse
Yet all of us who danse macabre to these dour, dismal tunes
Become cold, grim and hard as the dirt upon the tomb...

In darkened dirges death's knell peals out it's toll
As another cadaver is consigned six feet down to its hole
But ere the last shovel of dirt falls on the wall of the box
We gravely offer a salute to those about to rot...

So lift up your severed heads, in a song for the dead
Life's course ever runs red, so let no lyric remain unsaid
As from our mouths the melody is bled, in a symphony scripted in red
Like rats by the piper we're led, to join in this song for the dead...

The humor of the gallons never fails to ring true
In this dead, bleak, sick world that we're hung, drawn and quartered though
As each internecine instrument plays its own bloody part
The hammering of coffin nails outpaces the beating of our hearts...

Symphonic surgery orchestrated, a cleaver conducts
The execrable epiphany comes too late, just to reduce us to chunks
Rising up from the sod heaves a gross, putrid breath
As the chorus is joined in this song for the dead...

So lift up your severed heads, in a song for the dead
Life's course ever runs red, so let no lyric remain unsaid
As from our mouths the melody is bled, in a symphony scripted in red
Like rats by the piper we're led, to join in this song for the dead...

Truncated toccatas deranged - raked across barbed strings and hacked
Eviscerated etudes for the de-brained - plucked upon heartstring stretched
on the rack
Medicinal movements decomposed - Regurgitating oratorios obscene
Forensic fugues and de-boned - Mutilating the melody's method and means...

The crepitated coda dies in mid-refrain
As the sheet-music is obscured by a sanguine scarlet stain
Shattered stave lodged in your split-open splattered brain
The ruptured meter falters as the bow is fretted once again...

Acrid arias are screeched
The bloated thorax is breached
Abrading viscera with bleach
Grotesquely gavage the deceased...

Cleaving the clef
Broken notes bleed into a mess
Falling on ears so deaf
So it ever is in death...

Carbonized cantatas corrupt - ringing out, sewing seeds of dischord and
dismay
Suppurated sonatas erupt - Purulent pizzicatos slicing every which way
The truncated cadence is sundered - Bloody scraps of sheet music
unintellibly scrawled
Threnodies resonate six feet under - To where all life's fractured melodies
will finally resolve...

The symphonic slaughter's swells without restraint
As the cacophonous cadenza splits your eardrums clean in twain
The repugnant orchestra pit an abattoir of death and pain
The hatchet falls in sharp staccato until everyone is slain...