Luyện nghe bài hát Consuming Impulse

Your dry throat creaks without a to sputter
As pulpy dehydrated tongue soundlessly threshes
Days sustenance spent shackled and fettered
torso aches for the warm taste of flesh

I make a meal of you, your hunger I'll sate
Saw off your leg at the knee to put on your plate
Try not to wince at the that you feel
As I mince up calf to prepare your next meal

Cauterize the wound to stave off the hemorrhage
You should savor the thought of your
Choke down this meal in spite of your revulsion
Though how long can source of food last?

Keeping yourself alive as force-fed your own flesh
If you eat up, you're truly dead meat
Legs to stumps, bloody drinks gargled in clumps
In this case you really are you eat

Autophagous
Culinary pathology, butchery
Consuming
your corpse to be

Quadriplegic you as your dinner is served
Waste not ; want not, there's not much to conserve
Severed and severely upon a platter of splatter
After a while the source of the barely even matters

Now a half-eaten torso gorged to the
Piece by piece you are fed the cuts
As the dinner-bell rings your chops are feverishly licked
At the sight of your own fat turned and browned on a spit

Your own in your mouth tastes bitter and internecine
Noxious and moist, you get a of your own medicine
Gnashing, of your limbs with delight
Digesting your death with each grotesque bite

What's you? The question seems to moot
Scraping chunks of your feet out of blood-soaked sopping boot
Bash open bones clean to suckle at the marrow
As your culinary milieu of inexorably narrows

gluttony
Culinary pathology, dietary
impulse
Ingest corpse to be

Feeding comes again, the thorax falls victim to this slaughter
Blood, pus and replace wine, whiskey and water
survival will cost you an arm and a leg
Your spittle running, red with bits of reeking dregs

Masticate your own genitals, on your bludgeoned testicles
With a hunger that will not be
The of meats is your soft, fatty teats
That I'll be stuffing your with tonight

Puking up your own skin, just to it again
Is a treat save for dessert
Fresh meat for lunch, fibula cracked, drained and crunched
As overstuffed gullet gasps and blurts

crudely resected anatomy is a wretched grisly sight
But your stumps once just whet your appetite
Nibbling at the sinews of your bloody forearms and wrists
Devouring your survival in fleshly chunks and meaty bits

Eviscerate to gnaw at your own intestines
Bones from severed fingers this haphazard self-dissection
Clutch at inside your bowels with half-eaten grubby stumps
Pulling out the meal in grotesque tumescent clumps

Remaining fingers prying off your succulent out gums
Gnaw at your stringy cheek lining and masticate your insatiable
But the pieces you ingest in carnivorous
Fall out of the gaping that you have in your intestines

Gnash the meat from your avulsed face in a frenzied
No genitals, no feet, no legs, no appendage uncrushed
Half-eaten tongue oozes down your face, your hunger
Undiminished, only when your partially innards
Prolapse will this meal at be finished

gluttony
Culinary pathology, dietary
impulse
Excrete corpse to be