Your Funeral, My Feast - Exhumed

Epicurean pathology

Shattered gross anatomy

Bodily fluids, foul and septic

I sing the body decrepit

Your funeral, my feast

You’ll never rest in peace

Tagged, sectioned then slabbed

Slurp fluids from your body bag

Repulsive, jaundiced flesh

The stomach turning sight that I love best

Necrosis setting in

Discolored, rotting, mottled skin

The weevils writhe and squirm

Your torso now alive with worms

As organs liquefy

I whet my abhorrent appetite

Your funeral, my feast

A masterstroke of rotting meat

My dinner table’s where you rest in piece

Your funeral, my feast

Gruesome garnish, moist carnage

Raw bits of human garbage

The chunks seep, they won’t keep

Gnashing through as each piece bleeds

Your decay, my entrée

I wouldn’t have it any other way

Maggot millet, stuffs your gullet

To please my most deranged of palettes

Splenetic, ghastly taste

The stinking savor of pathological waste

Trypsin' and pepsin marinate

The loathsome bowels I masticate

To dine upon this foul concoction

Requires a taste for extreme unction

But for those who have the stomach

We sate our hunger on tripe and vomit

Your funeral, my feast

A masterstroke of rotting meat

My dinner table’s where you rest in piece

Your funeral, my feast

Your funeral, my feast