In the dissection of and the sawing of bone, I've coaxed confessions from the lips of the dead, scrutiny that has clinically shone, The horrifying facts that would have never been said... Unbosoming their in the sickening of their demise, Stomaching these wretched human riddles, I carve, hack and slice, Illuminating the dusty that lurk in closets, bones and entrails, Enduring the ghastly visage of violent in my travails... Whether in pieces or completely decomposed, I asses with clinical indifference, The remnants of a life grisly circumstance has brought to this office, Ensuring truth shall endure after the flesh has crumbled and away, Elucidating atrocities and carnage, the thankless job I perform day after day... Persistent that cut to the quick are my stock in trade, To scrutinize remains of a life, effort will have to be made, At times both evidence and flesh are profoundly encrypted and shred, It can be to pry answers from the mouths of the dead... A gutted torso can pose a bevy of answerless to deliberate, Probing a scalpel, I expose the morbid cavity that I now must eviscerate, Unlocking death's mysteries my forceps, tweezers and saw, Wringing from a fibula, fossa or jaw... Recording confessions that are uttered without a sound, From informants long dead I've culled from the ground, Beneath the pallid veil of cold flesh or enshrouded in the shredded of a face, Exhuming the truth is my occupation, no how decrepit its resting place... Within the bowels of a horribly mutilated corpse or a splattered brain, Picking apart and deceit til only the cold facts remain, Dead men will tell tales if you how to and learn, Even when they've been stabbed, beaten, shot, hacked up and burned... This morbid for knowledge is not without its rewards, Much can be extrapolated from a decrepit infants gourd, My a slab, my text is a corpse, and I've studied with sincere, ardent fervor, And that often man's to man is all to well deserved...