Luyện nghe bài hát Consuming Impulse

Your dry throat without a saliva to sputter
As your pulpy dehydrated soundlessly threshes
Days without spent shackled and fettered
Emaciated torso 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 at the pain that you feel
As I mince up your calf to prepare your meal

Cauterize the gargled wound to off the hemorrhage
You savor the thought of your repast
Choke down this bitter in spite of your revulsion
Though how long can your source of last?

Keeping alive as you're force-fed your own flesh
If you don't eat up, you're truly meat
Legs turned to stumps, bloody gargled in clumps
In this you really are what you eat

gluttony
Culinary pathology, butchery
Consuming
your corpse to be

Quadriplegic you feed as your dinner is
Waste not ; want not, though not much to conserve
and severely served upon a platter of splatter
After a while the source of the sustenance barely even

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

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

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

Autophagous
pathology, dietary butchery
Consuming
Ingest your to be

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

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

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

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

Eviscerate yourself to gnaw at your own
Bones from severed fingers facilitate haphazard self-dissection
Clutch at grume inside your bowels half-eaten grubby stumps
Pulling out the repugnant meal in grotesque tumescent

Remaining fingers prying off your succulent out gums
Gnaw at your stringy cheek lining and masticate your insatiable
But the pieces you ingest in abandon
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 left
Half-eaten tongue spittle down your face, your hunger
Undiminished, only when your partially innards
Prolapse this meal at last be finished

Autophagous
Culinary pathology, dietary
impulse
Excrete corpse to be