Tearing at its boney face
It lifts its wretched hand
And tells a tale of history
In hell lifes contraband
Putrid smells pour from its lips
Its eyes begin to bleed
Lost elixir of life
Baby maggots feed
Its a creature loved by children
Oh if they could know the hell
Hair reclining life declining
Vomits at its own sweet smell
Laughing at its ripe melasma
Skin begins to rot and peel
Graveolent dry catamenia
Open wounds that never heal
Losing all its sense of senses
Dyspnoea closing in
Waiting for its day of judgement
End this phthisic state its it
Is this an eternal torment
For one who tried to outli have time
Wi will we ever know the answer
Dysphony should be a crime
Senile decay youve seen a million seasons
Cast in hell by time for treason
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Venom
Mortals :: Venom