The Rotting - Exhumed

Deep within the grave

Where the cadaver lies decayed — there lurks the rotting

Within every fetid corpse

This process festers on its course — to speed the rotting

Its ubiquity cannot be denied — a gruesome trade, sempiternally plied

From the waste in which we wallow

To the flesh we gluttonously swallow — we consume the rotting

In rubbish bins of medical waste

Awaits the horrendous, wretched taste — of the rotting

That first whiff sure to nauseate — and its rancid fruit we regurgitate

The rotting’s coming

The end it brings

The rotting is the destiny of all that’s breathing

The rotting’s strumming

On your heartstrings

The rotting’s coming — 'til you’re the corpse that we’re bereaving

In the slither of the grubs

The maggots writhing in their chum — there feed the rotting

In suppurating stools

That dribble ichor into pools — there reeks the rotting

The grue that binds us together — is everyone devouring one another

The rotting’s coming

The end it brings

The rotting is the destiny of all that’s breathing

The rotting’s strumming

On your heartstrings

The rotting’s coming — 'til you’re the corpse that we’re bereaving

The rotting

The humble and the great

All consumed by the same fate — become the rotting

In its blackening embrace

All is eventually erased — by the rotting

The putrid waste upon which we’ve built our lives — as we decay,

maggots and weevils thrive

The rotting’s coming

It was here all along

The rotting is an acrid, stinking, putrid savor

The rotting’s strumming

Its discordant song

The rotting’s thrumming

A defective dirge to scourge your neighbors

The rotting