Luyện nghe bài hát Consuming Impulse

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

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

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

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

gluttony
Culinary pathology, butchery
impulse
Ingest corpse to be

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

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

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

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

gluttony
Culinary pathology, dietary
impulse
Ingest corpse to be

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

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

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

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

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

Remaining prying off your succulent gouged out gums
Gnaw at your stringy lining and masticate your insatiable tongue
But the pieces you ingest in abandon
Fall out of the gaping that you have torn in intestines

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

gluttony
Culinary pathology, dietary
impulse
Excrete your to be