Whitechapel - Festering Fiesta

Staring at the remnants of the concoction of viral fluid My appetite is repulsive nonetheless I still pursue I’m basking in the glory I have so desired I confer your presentation you’ve bestowed Rusted tools excising rotting dead With your corpse I lay caressing My fun is done. It’s time to send you back I’ll slam it six feet deep closer to hell Descending back into your grave You’ve been dismembered. Molested. And maimed I can breathe again. Erection wearing thin Looking through the eyes of a necromaniac A schizophrenic being uniting the dead A post-mortem oath inscribed on your back With this oath I’ve claimed your head Morbid desires. Finally fulfilled. Returning to the grave for a second course Vile stench of dessication forming in my nodes Chainsaw raping Bloated carcass Hacked to pieces Necromaniac