Lyrics Carcass – Forensic Clinicism / The Sanguine Article
Text:
Salutiferous exaltation, through fusty spatterings I sift,
Cauterizing proud flesh, pyogenic cortex I just yearn to rip,
With impalpable, cathartic tools, dilapidated lusts I gratify,
Cold premediated surgery, in my calculated surgery I hold your fragile life…
Pultacious…
Pugnacious…
Pernicious…
Acro-idiopathic…
Artificially concussed, excavating to your gastric core,
Patulous, deep wounds, cascading and crimson as I explore,
Master at my bloody art, I like to carve sculpture and maim,
Mounted on the freezer’s geurney, you’re exhibited until you enter into decay…
Pultacious…
Pugnacious…
Delicious…
Gastric-idiopathology…
Welcome to my theatre, the stage upon which I act,
Turning into a sumptuous perfomance, heiniously I hew and gash,
Churning out a deep gulch, the incision a major nick,
A quick toke of nitrous oxide is how I get my kicks…
Expurgating healthy tissue, opulent flesh I slit,
Costate cuts expunged as the patient I now fillet,
Malpractising and mussing, carnage hyperventilates,
Self placebonic, the only is operate…
The recumbent are my prey — under my genital blade,
Your precordium I brutally plunder — whilst you’re put under
Exanguinating — you’re totally parched,
Exenterating — removing body parts,
Wholly abraded — Surgically maimed,
Decortication — Medically slain
Contaminating, infacting, how I love to cough and sneeze,
On the carneous culture, to cause bacteria to breed,
Anaesthetised, paralysed, a clinical stupor is induced,
With callous dexterity your bodily mass is reduced…
I extract the gullet — to end up in my bucket,
A quick flick of my wrist — and I’ll be struck off the list
Exanguinating — straigh from the heart,
Exenterating — with my lancet so sharp,
Anatomically — my surgery maims,
Decortication — by the clinically deranged
Gross misconduct, I make the choicest cuts,
Text book stabs, written on your tag…
Wheeled away after a medical mishap,
In a polythene bag your body is now wrapped…
The acute wound now sealed up,
The picture of ill-health, you’re a bit cut up…
