In my waxen world, time stands still   Forever frozen like flies trapped in amber   One perfect moment preserved, just ere the kill   Gruesome atrocities transfixed in horror's chamber      Poetry without motion, figures stranded midstream   Waxen players in this dark drama of the macabre   Mouths agape with terror but breathless to scream   No death rattle heard, nor parting sors...      I am preserver of life through my morbid art   For each mannequin was truly alive from the start   So if the eyes seem to follow your gaze as you gawk   Know that in the eyes of the dead, in their shadow you walk...      Cadavers molded in wax as their lives buried away   More preening puppets to perform in the scenes that I play   Features cast in the moment of dying preserved   How they screamed as they met with their fates well deserved...      WAXWORK      Recreating the horror of the moment of death   My models serve their purpose quite well   Embalm their bodies in wax, capture their dying breath   Drain the fluids to stave off the smell      Like dolls that dance to their own funeral dirge   They play out their death scenes interminably   As prized their exhibits in my dark reserve   They unfold their secrets only to me      Life eternal in wax was their death's decree   Suffering for my art, they surrendered to me   So when their eyes lock with your gaze   Look unflinchingly at death or turn away fast...      Skin blistered and softened as it was coated and sealed away   Another preserved puppet to prance on the strings that I play   The fear ensnared in their captive countenances I've trapped   Mummified and memorialised in wax well-woven and wrapped...      WAXWORK      [Lead - Matt]      So sit still in your place at the end of the blade   By my design, death's hand find you just out of reach   Another player in this deathly silent world that I have made   Devoid of sound, fury or motion, sense, movement or speech      Awaiting a terminus that never will come   You're a marionette bound by my strings   Trussed in this tomb of wax, your time here is not done   For time does not quite end all things...      This is my life's work, this still, silent place   A monument to the fear frozen in a cold, waxen face   Take care not to stare into their eyes, whatever you do   When you look deep into death, it sees back into you too...      Flesh bubbled and scalded, as this molten bath washed life away   Wax covered my still-screaming prey   Another piece for my prizing, recast in my mold   Features harden and set as the wax grows stiff and cold...      WAXWORK