Post-mortem Procedures Lyrics - Gore Metal Redux: A Necrospective [re-recorded Version] - Exhumed

In the dissection of flesh and the sawing of bone, I've coaxed confessions 

from the lips of the dead, Postmortem scrutiny that has clinically shone, The 

horrifying facts that would have never been said... Unbosoming their secrets 

in the sickening results of their demise, Stomaching these wretched human 

riddles, I carve, hack and slice, Illuminating the dusty skeletons that lurk 

in closets, bones and entrails, Enduring the ghastly visage of violent death 

in my forensic travails... Whether in pieces or completely decomposed, I asses 

with clinical indifference, The remnants of a life which grisly circumstance 

has brought to this office, Ensuring that truth shall endure after the flesh 

has crumbled and rotted away, Elucidating atrocities and carnage, the 

thankless job I perform day after day... Persistent incisions that cut to the 

quick are my stock in trade, To scrutinize what remains of a life, 

painstaking effort will have to be made, At times both evidence and flesh are 

profoundly encrypted and shred, It can be murder to pry answers from the 

mouths of the dead... A gutted torso can pose a bevy of answerless questions 

to deliberate, Probing with a scalpel, I expose the morbid cavity that I now 

must eviscerate, Unlocking death's mysteries with my forceps, tweezers and 

saw, Wringing revelations from a fibula, fossa or jaw... Recording 

confessions that are uttered without making a sound, From informants long dead 

that I've culled from the ground, Beneath the pallid veil of cold flesh or 

enshrouded in the shredded remains of a face, Exhuming the truth is my 

occupation, no matter how decrepit its resting place... Within the bowels of a 

horribly mutilated corpse or a splattered brain, Picking apart flesh and 

deceit til only the cold facts remain, Dead men will tell tales if you know 

how to listen and learn, Even when they've been stabbed, beaten, shot, hacked 

up and burned... This morbid quest for knowledge is not without its rewards, 

Much can be extrapolated from a decrepit infants gourd, My bureau's a slab, my 

text is a corpse, and I've studied with sincere, ardent fervor, And found that 

often man's inhumanity to man is all to well deserved... 

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