We have stared over the precipice of mortality

And death's gaping maw could not be sated

Our deviant feats could not attain immortality

In shame, we vow our flesh to be uncreated



Putrescence and filth, within our lab and within ourselves

The mocking corpses bloat and distend

This reeking rubbage will dispell

When our lives, by our own hands, we'll dutifully end



In vaporous rooms, veins swell to burst

Anæsthesia is applied

Scalpels lick our forearms and wrists

Doctor assisted suicide



Caught in the act, we are red-handed

From the antibrachium, flesh is disbanded

Anti-coagulants of our invention

Will ensure no bloodflow retention



Goblets are filled with the reagent

Our work's micturation

A toast is raised to time spent

On failed experimentation



(solo: "Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble" by S.C. McGrath)



Noxious salves enkindling throats

Congealing on tongues in coats

With instruments we have fathered

We'll proceed to disembowel eachother



(solo: "Bungled Grind" by T. Spruance)



Fraternal dissection



Detritus of a cold cook... medical waste

Keech of those that were burked... medical waste

Sweetmeats hung from rusted hooks ... medical waste

Maladroit surgical jerks... we're medical wastes



Lacerated midsections... medical waste

Sucking wounds fillling lungs... medical waste

Our avulsed intestines... medical waste

Errorist physicians... we're medical wastes



Our characters are mortally wounded

Teetotaciously rent corporeal shells

And now our blood and grue is self-exuded

For from icarian heights we fell



(solo: "Live By the Scalpel, Die..." by J. Kocol)

(solo: "Voluntary Suicide" by S.C. McGrath)