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Carcass
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Symposium of Sickness
Lyricist:Michael Amott, Kenneth Malcolm Owen, William Geoffrey Steer, Jeffrey Walker
That's why I find it so amusing That the Latter-day Saints of our business One, attribute to me motives that just weren't there And two accuse me of corrupting morality Which I wish I had the power to do, prepare to die
An encloaking, dark epoch In which all life is now appraised Another valueless commodity On which the paracious may feebly graze
Indebted homage to their mammon Whilst the mort is the music of the meek Transcendence from a beatifully brutal reality Is what I seek
Noxious, sully dolour Is not the sentiment upon which we feed But precocious consciousness Draws out a morbid nous to bleed
Chiselling out seething words Which cut deep down to the bone Always legible So be it on our own headstone
Rising to out own nadir Reality we try to extirpate Trying to raise a twisted smile Similar to that silver plate
On a coffin which is joined Hammering in each final nail Last kill and testament Left now intestate
Noxious, sully dolour Is not the thesis which is bled A precarious train of thought In which mental cattle-trucks are led
Carving out skilful words Which shear brittle bones Always spelt out well We just can't leave the dead alone
Monographic text A terminal doctrine of diseased minds perplexed Enunciated epigrams Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Eschatological, rotten requiems
Always our own worst cynics Exorcisers of scorching scorn Digging our own graves But never stand over and mourn
The roulade now pandemonium Displaced in the muggy sods Espoused with the macabre The dead we filch and rob
Munificant bale From the deviants staid
Execrations, taunting spiritual release Exoneration, upon the perishable we feast Excogitation, picking at the bones of convention Exculpitation, foul verbal conflagration
Epigraphic text, a literary vex The macabre perplexed, with corporeality meshed
Euthenic text An unpleasant journey to a world perplexed Corporeal epigraphs Eschatological unpleasantness
Always forever cryptic Exercisers of twisted grief Helping you to dig up the interred Whilst fresh still are the wreaths
The harmony now pandemonium Heard out in the muddy dirt Espoused with the bizzare We play on our own turf
Epithetic text A macabre rality perplexed
Execrations, literary tales of atrocities fairy Exoneration, harsh, cold bloody marys Excogitation, a narcissistic eutechnique Exculpitation, perverse artworks, so unique
Monographic text, a literary vex The macabre perplexed with reality meshed
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