By night I return to the storage shed
Anxious to catch a glimpse of the dead
Nervously, I unbolt the door
Making my way into this abatoir
Hot air rushes out the aperture
A putrid gust of flattus and methane
Inhaling the rotting fumes as I choke
Hit by a wave of nausea I try to restrain
At last I regard the bloated stiffs
Terribly dislimbed and deceased
My plumpened prizes now swollen by putrefaction
A makeshift mortuary for the obese
Their corpulence exceeded solely
By the foulness of their smell
Their girth only expanded upon in death
The fleshy carcasses bloat and swell
Lead - Matt
Postmortem hypertrophy plagues the hefty cadavers
Their portly bodies now thoroughly dead
The incessant buzzing of insects as necrovores slaver
Fills the tepid chamber whose walls I've stained red
I hacked through their layers of blubbering fat
Some were gutted, some punctured, some razed
When I finished I found them decidedly flat,
If not yet dead, then at least bleeding and dazed
In this dingy shack I had left them to rot
And then departed the undignified scene
The makeshift crypt they inhabit now fetid and hot
The curdling innards turned a sickly shade of green |
