The lingering scirrhus begins to harden   As the insides fall prey to putrefaction   Rotting tissue turns to mush and pulp   As your mind is torn by encephalitis      Your cavities rot with ulcers   Your infected inflammations torn   Your gizzards eaten by incursive decay   You're infernally rotten to the gore...      Juices digested from each pus-swollen pore   Insatiable hunger as I feast on the gore   Nothing gives me greater pleasure   Than a bowlful of chyme   Maggot infested kidneys   Are what I choose every time      The smell of plaguing infection   Is nauseatingly emetic   Prolonged spumescence of stale pus   Stinks like hot, purtid vomit      Your body is indurate   The insides are black as tar   Your innards gnawed by septic hate   Now a mass of empyaema      Your blood is caked   Dried and inconsistent   Your bloody rotten gore   Is now vitrescent