1. TOOLS OF THE TRADE

Steel skin clips,
Forceps, grooved awl, retractors, needles
Gouges and saws,
Intestinal clamps, blunt dissectors,
Scalpels, pins, toothed directors.

Tools of the trade, forceps and blades
Skillfully lathed, for us to maim.

Bone levers, spikes, malleable scoops,
Plates and chisels, screws and spoons,
Drills, respatories, files and durettes,
Guillotines, gags and compression forceps.

Tools of the trade, ripping the rib-cage,
To remissly lustrate, so pleased to maim.

[Lead: Maim to please by W.G Steer]
[Lead: Up to the hilt by M. Amott]

Retractors, mallets, rugines and benders,
Chisels, rods, sharps and catheters,
Trephines, undines, irons and styrups,
Depressors, tongues, sterile catgut.

Tools of the trade, stainless steel blades,
Painstakingly lathed, we're so pleased to maim.


2. STILL ROTTEN TO THE GORE

The lingering scirrhus begins to harden
As the insides fall prey to putrefaction
Rotting tissue turns to mush and pulp
As your mind is torn by encephalitis

Your cavities rot with ulcers
Your infected inflammations torn
Your gizzards eaten by incursive decay
You're infernally rotten to the gore...

Juices digested from each pus-swollen pore
Insatiable hunger as I feast on the gore
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than a bowlful of chyme
Maggot infested kidneys are what I choose every time

Juices digested from each pus-swollen pore
Insatiable hunger as I feast on the gore
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than a bowlful of chyme
Maggot infested kidneys are what I choose every time

The smell of plaguing infection
Is nauseatingly emetic
Prolonged spumescence of stale pus
Stinks like hot, purtid vomit

Your body is indurate
The insides are black as tar
Your innards gnawed by septic hate
Now a mass of empyaema

Your blood is caked
Dried and inconsistent
Your bloody rotten gore
Is now vitrescent

Your body is indurate
The insides are black as tar
Your innards gnawed by septic hate
Now a mass of empyaema