Inpropagation Lyrics - Necroticism - Descanting The Insalubrious - Carcass

Insipid fumes bellow 

from the atrabilious 

chimney. 

In the sanetified 

crevet I calmly pillage 

and rake 

for hot dry 

powdered human slag 

still steaming in the 

crematorium's grate. 

Bio-organic ebullition, 

bones tar, tallow dehydrates 

for my deleterious horticulture 

so that I may cultivate.. 

Your mortal mechanism dies 

in nutrients rich. 

In the hallowed turf you lie 

just for the taking. 

Charred sinews 

as good as lime, 

no phosphates do I need. 

Deteriorated flesh 

used as top-soil 

to replenish and 

nourish seed. 

Spreading this human potash 

as ash matured. 

Recycling my rich harvest. 

Bring out your dead... 

for use as manure! 

Irrigating tears are shed. 

But the ground must be fed. 

And there's no rest for the dead. 

Tipping and dusting up 

the spilt contents of urns. 

Every morsel that glows 

as embers in the fire. 

Extinguishing all hope 

of beautrific dispatch. 

These charred chassis desired. 

Exequiet rites performed. 

A coronach sooting up the flu. 

Enter my execrable inferno. 

Even in the after-life 

there's work to do. 

The nitrogen content high 

the flesh is weak. 

At the graveside mourners cry. 

You're never to wake again. 

Burnt brisket renews 

the ground 

to germinate my seed. 

Cremated bodies 

are my spoil 

to use them as plant feed. 

Ploughing this abhorrant 

human manure. 

Seedling my rich harvest. 

Bring out your dead 

for the soils to devour. 

Dry the dead are bled. 

because the ground 

must be fed. 

Still no rest for the dead. 

I propagate 

Dust in the grate. 

Ashes to ashes. 

Dust to dust. 

Diluted in water 

and sprayed on crops. 

Charcoal, fats, 

flesh and soot 

fertilising pastures 

with active furtile rot. 

Incumbent. 

Latent calories are spent. 

Ashes to ashes. 

Dust to dust. 

Renewing the land 

with corpses corrupt. 

Mortuary scrapings, 

hearses a must. 

To the hot hearth 

the diseased are trussed. 

Harvesting the defouled 

to fertilise the soil. 

Rejuvenating the spent 

with my fecundate spoils... 

Reaping the gone 

to nourish the land. 

Replenishing exhausted pastures 

with my uncanny sleight of hand. 

Restoring the unnatural balance. 

sowing my seed. 

Defalcating the departed 

I rapt and glean. 

So I recite my contrite lament. 

Lacrimation for the dead. 

Their rest which I disturb. 

Where should stand row upon row 

of cold grey remembrance stones 

my cash crops now grow.