| Disc 1 | ||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1. |
| 6:08 | 
|
|||
| 2. |
| 4:15 | 
|
|||
|
An emotional void, a cold empty shell
Embittered husk, a heart of darkness Trace weak pulse, vascular eclipse Numbed and sapped, emotional paralysis Flatline, grievious bodily heart Flatlined, sensitivity bypassed No tears to cry Stone cold emotional flatline Emotional flatline No tears to cry With indifference touched of emotion drained Cold bloody minded, caressing disdain Pulsating life, only rhythmic dead beats Terminal cardiac ridden with disease Flatline...no tears to cry The hard line...stone cold emotionless flatline No time to cry Stone cold emotional flatline Emotional flatline No time to cry No tears to cry |
||||||
| 3. |
| 4:05 |
|
|||
|
Round and round we go,
Like a merry-go-round out of control The same old tune, same old song Again, again, and again Round and round we go, When will it stop, nobody knows The same old chords, the same old words It all sounds familiar, all starts to sound the same Turn on, tune in, drop out, Out of tune, dropped in, turned off Who calls the tune? Round and round we go, Ever get the feeling you've heard this before? Same old melody, rejuvenated, Recycled again and again Round and round, we go, Never able to stem the flow Same old notes, going round in cycles Over and over again, and over again... Turn on, tune in, drop out, Out of tune, dropped in, turned off Who calls the tune? Who plays the fool? As the circles ever increase Round and round we go, Like a merry-go-round out of control The same old tune, the same old song, Again, again, and again Round and round we go, Ever get the feeling you've heard this before? Same old melody, rejuvenated, Recycled again and again, again and again... Turn on, tune in, drop out, Out of tune, dropped in, turned off Turn on, tune in, drop out, Out of tune, dropped in, turned off Who calls the tune? Who plays the fool? Who calls the tune? As the circles ever increase |
||||||
| 4. |
| 4:42 |
|
|||
|
Your blood flies in the wind,
It's old and worn and has no glory Hand on heart allegiance pledged Patriot, hatred instilled Ignorant, white trash stand proud With bigotry endowed These colours don't run These colours well worn These colours don't run But put to the torch they'll sure as hell... Burn like your passion, The passion of the damned Can you still hear Dixie? Ignorance is your strength A raped stolen land stands so proud Can you still hear Dixie scream out loud? These colours don't run These colours are well worn These colours don't run But put to the torch they'll sure as hell... Burn... Burn... Burn... Burn... Your blood flies in the wind Aged, ragged it's a sorry story, Blood-spattered banner unfurled A nation, hatred instilled, With slavery stained, Your dream of shame These colours don't run These colours are well worn These colours don't run But put to the torch they'll sure as hell.... These colours don't run These colours are well worn Your colours don't run But put to the torch - I'll tread on you !!! These colours don't run These colours are well worn These colours don't run But put to the torch they'll sure as hell... Burn... Burn... Burn... Burn... Want to see your flag up in flames Burn... Burn... Burn... Burn... I'll tread on you. |
||||||
| 5. |
| 3:50 |
|
|||
| 6. |
| 4:05 |
|
|||
| 7. |
| 4:51 |
|
|||
|
Sensual awakening,
Numbing feeling's dead, Conception's romanticised, Synthetized broken heart's to bled, Without emotion, your heartstring's played, Strummed and severed to the tune of a tragic serenade, (A tragic chorus,) Without emotion, your hearstrings break, Snapped and severed to the tune of a tragic, sad-cliche. No love lost, When all is said and done, There's no love lost. The low cost of loving, Amorous travesty, Human frailties and weakness are easy prey, How your poor heart will bleed. |
||||||
| 8. |
| 3:45 |
|
|||
| 9. |
| 5:49 |
|
|||
| 10. |
| 4:09 |
|
|||
|
The spirit distilled, the soul is bought.
The D.N.A. split, the virus is caught. The germination of reproduction, Complex patterns of genetic devolution. The die is cast. Birth, copulation, and death. Is this your life? Birth, copulation, and death. Is this the meaning of life? Is this the genesis of devolution? The die is cast. Birth, copulation, and death. Is this your life? Birth, copulation, and death. Is this the meaning of life? Birth, copulation, and death. Is this your life? Birth, copulation, and death. Is this the meaning... Birth, copulation, and death. Is this your life? Birth, copulation, and death. |
||||||
| 11. |
| 3:49 |
|
|||
|
Can you smell the rot?
As opportunity knocks. The foul stench of success. This carcass in decay, Well past it's sell-by date. This time the fall comes before the pride. The chameleon's changed its shade, But the same old song, to the same old tune is played. Falling to the bait, But the song still sounds the same. Let's rot ...C'mon, rot! This carcass in decay, Tell me, can you smell the rot? The chameleon's changed its shade, But the same old song, to the same old tune is played. Kill me, it's unbrave But the song remains the same. Let's rot, let's rot ...C'mon, rot! Commiserations or celebrations of a rejuvenation? Commiserations or celebrations of a rejuvenation? |
||||||
| 12. |
| 3:05 |
|
|||
|
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. 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. |
||||||
| 13. |
| 3:09 |
|
|||
| 14. |
| 6:39 |
|
|||
| 15. |
| 3:00 |
|
|||
| 16. |
| 6:12 |
|
|||
| 17. |
| 4:19 |
|
|||
|
Grimly I dig up the turfs
To remove the corrupted stiffs Trying to contain my excitement As I desecrate graveolent crypts... Fingers claw at coffin lids Eager festal exhumation Hugging your wry, festered remains With post-humous joy and elation... Body snatched, freshly interred Whatever takes my fancy To satisfy my gratuitous pica My culinary necromancy... Scrutinised then brutalised My forensic inquisition is fulfiled My recipe is now your epitaph Be it fried, boiled or grilled... I devour the pediculous corpse Whetting my palate as I exhume The festering stench of rotting flesh Makes me drool as I consume... Caskets I grate My larder's a grave I'm sickly obsessed (with the badly decomposed) Rotten remains I eat Purulent meat What a funeral feast (putrid reek) Weeping tissue is stripped Pus dribbles from my lips Pulverising this pustular chaff Butchering up morgue's makes me laugh... Ulcerated flesh I munch Rotting corpses are my lunch On bones I love to crunch (on the badly decomposed) Shrivelled innards I lick The corpse's head I kick Crumbling shreds I pick (eat the stiffs) Rancid flesh, slaughter the dead Caskets exhumed... Corpses disinterred, graves disturbed To consume... Bereaved relatives are not amused As on their dear departed I feverishly consume... Slavering worms, decomposure burns Corrosion born, as bacteria gnaw Desecrate... Precipitate....(from the muddy grave) Macerate... Eviscerate... Caskets I grate My larder's a grave I'm sickly obsessed (with the badly decomposed) Rotten remains I eat Purulent meat What a funeral feast (putrid reek) Saponified fats, nibbled by rats freshly exhumed... Deep down six feet is where I like to eat Human flesh to consume... |
||||||
|
