We have stared over the precipice of mortality   And death's gaping maw could not be sated   Our deviant feats could not attain immortality   In shame, we vow our flesh to be uncreated      Putrescence and filth, within our lab and within ourselves   The mocking corpses bloat and distend   This reeking rubbage will dispell   When our lives, by our own hands, we'll dutifully end      In vaporous rooms, veins swell to burst   Anæsthesia is applied   Scalpels lick our forearms and wrists   Doctor assisted suicide      Caught in the act, we are red-handed   From the antibrachium, flesh is disbanded   Anti-coagulants of our invention   Will ensure no bloodflow retention      Goblets are filled with the reagent   Our work's micturation   A toast is raised to time spent   On failed experimentation      (solo: "Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble" by S.C. McGrath)      Noxious salves enkindling throats   Congealing on tongues in coats   With instruments we have fathered   We'll proceed to disembowel eachother      (solo: "Bungled Grind" by T. Spruance)      Fraternal dissection      Detritus of a cold cook... medical waste   Keech of those that were burked... medical waste   Sweetmeats hung from rusted hooks ... medical waste   Maladroit surgical jerks... we're medical wastes      Lacerated midsections... medical waste   Sucking wounds fillling lungs... medical waste   Our avulsed intestines... medical waste   Errorist physicians... we're medical wastes      Our characters are mortally wounded   Teetotaciously rent corporeal shells   And now our blood and grue is self-exuded   For from icarian heights we fell      (solo: "Live By the Scalpel, Die..." by J. Kocol)   (solo: "Voluntary Suicide" by S.C. McGrath)