[Verse 1]
With a hose
No one will ever find you
The smell of your carrion hangs low in the street
Weeks of returning to relax in the meat
Butchery/morgue meets day-spa retreat

[Verse 2]
The smell of the carnage
Begin the excretement
Choice picked tidbits of ligaments
I mix for an afternoon sludge soup
Constantly craving, needing to eat shit

[Verse 3]
No escape from this place
Life condemned to rot
Pulpy ulcerous filaments
Gagged snot and clots