Tearing at it's boney face    It lifts it's wretched hand    And tells a tale of history    In hell lifes contraband    Putrid smells pour from it's lips    It's eyes begin to bleed    Lost elixir of life    Baby maggots feed       It's a creature loved by children    Oh if they could know the hell    Hair reclining life declining    Vomits at it's own sweet smell    Laughing at it's ripe melasma    Skin begins to rot and peel    Graveolent dry catamenia    Open wounds that never heal       Losing all it's sense of senses    Dyspnoea closing in    Waiting for it's day of judgement    End this phthisic state it's it    Is this an eternal torment    For one who tried to outlive time    Will we ever know the answer    Dysphony should be a crime       Senile decay you've seen a million seasons    Cast in hell by time for treason