---

Nailed to a rusty chair, Sulphur in the musty air

Suppurating through your loins, Eyes fixated on your groin

In this moment I am God, I hear you praying through the cloth

The desiccated corpse of a wombless whore, A stillborn chid to settle the score

Knife in Hand, Cutting Through

As I bathe in Viscera

Curdled Blood, Torn Tissue

Feeding on your Placenta

A Womb to Harvest

In the Dawn of Carnage

Masticate the Rancid Puss, Pleasure Swells with every thrust

Slay the living first I must, To fuck the dead into Dust

A Barren land once ripe with fruit, Torn from the soil by its roots

A favoured blade imbued with rust, I use to quench my Bloodlust

Placental Effusions

Linger on my Salted Lips

Numerous Contusions

Marring Barren Birthing Hips

A Womb to Harvest

In the Dawn of Carnage

Peel her Skin to Make my Couch

Watching TV Makes Me Aroused

Rotting Odours heat my House

My Child of Rape, Never Birthed

Hung from the Nape upon my Hearth

Vaginal Tearing from my Girth

Her Body Buried in the Earth