1. |
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Cognitive Overload
Lies, subliminal and venomous, consume ego’s trinity
Hundred bodies lay down as cartilage shells
taught to be lamb though born to annihilate
I’m mesmerised on the thin edge of the abyss
like a descendant of chaos who’s willing to fall
Anamorphic poem of tissues and sores
vertigo drilled in a brain-dead neurosis
silent dream concealed in aseptic chambers
Knowledge of archetype’s symmetry
is a ragged prosthesis achieved
through the carnal gifts of death release
I'm closer to the destiny of expendable pawns
overwhelmed by endorphins and scorn
wondering the darkest shades of mortal spunk
I deified oblivion's sacred realm
with stitches and blood floods
I'm driven by the symphony of gore
cauterised breastbones
And I have no limits anymore
I'm the twisted name curved in your entrails
Living proof of destiny’s lies
I'm torn between the dawn and dusk of reality
Where others see obscenities
I ascend to the throne of amorphism supremacy
I'm addicted to the logic of vivisection
Can't take my eyes away from such throbbing revelation
Once I sank in the quicksand of the unknown
but now I rise from the ashes of human thoughts.
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2. |
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Rise of the Xenotype
The silent book I wrote
was bred with fleshy seeds of rationale torment
Torn apart by the subliminal bedlam of demons
forged in my inner Babel
Once I found myself among dried-up bodies
A speechless nod of concealed wastelands
where immortal divinities are nothing but unloaded guns
aimed to man’s head as a coward threat
posed by the last remnants of yet forgotten dark ages
Thus far such fear has enchained us
We are masochistic reapers
Blacksmiths covered with corpses’ ashes
Genital syntheses escaped to collapsing eons
because conceived in viscid cages built up for the masses
Soon our latent embryonic consistency
will lead a relentless rage to the annihilation
of those servants to the oblivion
Crippled beggars who cower before the great lie
And stroke broken bones as golden shrines
Once I was told that in eons to come
The measure of man’s despair
will be the inner celebration of suffering and withdrawal
Instead we need chaos in our souls
to unleash the limbic system’s cryptic core
Rip apart thy masters and makers
Anger is no longer withheld
for thou writing unknown blasphemies for chaos’s breed
for thou making a bloody way out of Tartarus
We create monsters to remind us our mortality
our unconditional reliance on society’s alienation
forged by the taunting ambiguity of human existence
We have always had to struggle
to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe
But no price is too high to pay
for the privilege of owning yourself
for thou to undertake the path of the Xeno-type.
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3. |
The Embalmer (2011)
05:25
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The Embalmer
I cut and sew to sublime demise from a septic distance,
contend with the mescaline of mortal deception,
eradicate the construct of perpetual motion
that lies behind the threshold of human illusions :
to born is to be prey of death’s cyclical inception
The truth is not stored in the eyes but wrapped around my mind
A soul measures itself if applied to perception
but you’re still trapped between deceiving realms
shaped by Hermes to release his beast: the eternal becoming
You are but a dull guest in this dark world
Corpses hang from hooks as chained scarecrows,
rotting pantomimes of human being,
their stench is a deep and pure breath to me
They’re mine embalmed tarots of flesh
Scraps barely survived to the triumph of time
My finest act of worship to the prelude of decomposition
Dried organs are fruits no longer forbidden
Obsidian blades breed my hunger
I’m a blood-soaked maggot,
omnivore and devoted to the decline
Ashes keep filling the air with dead skin scent
Eviscerated bodies stand still as wretched vessels
wisely devoid of secreted fluids for precious ointments
The art of dismemberment is an unquestionable creed
No one will survive to see the cycles of mankind
I am meticulous observer of the unbearable frailty of life
There’s no shame in pursuing the ultimate knowledge
Nor remorse in taking one more step into what is yet unknown .
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4. |
||||
The Embalmer
I cut and sew to sublime demise from a septic distance,
contend with the mescaline of mortal deception,
eradicate the construct of perpetual motion
that lies behind the threshold of human illusions :
to born is to be prey of death’s cyclical inception
The truth is not stored in the eyes but wrapped around my mind
A soul measures itself if applied to perception
but you’re still trapped between deceiving realms
shaped by Hermes to release his beast: the eternal becoming
You are but a dull guest in this dark world
Corpses hang from hooks as chained scarecrows,
rotting pantomimes of human being,
their stench is a deep and pure breath to me
They’re mine embalmed tarots of flesh
Scraps barely survived to the triumph of time
My finest act of worship to the prelude of decomposition
Dried organs are fruits no longer forbidden
Obsidian blades breed my hunger
I’m a blood-soaked maggot,
omnivore and devoted to the decline
Ashes keep filling the air with dead skin scent
Eviscerated bodies stand still as wretched vessels
wisely devoid of secreted fluids for precious ointments
The art of dismemberment is an unquestionable creed
No one will survive to see the cycles of mankind
I am meticulous observer of the unbearable frailty of life
There’s no shame in pursuing the ultimate knowledge
Nor remorse in taking one more step into what is yet unknown .
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The Body Farm UK
The Body Farm is a Death/Brutal Death metal band founded in 2009 by Rosario “Ross” Piazza (co-founder, former lead guitar & current lyrics writer of the Italian band Cadaver Mutilator). The Body Farm is a project based in London, and so far two EPs have been released: “Thanatoscope” (mid 2010) and “Xenotype 616” (late 2011). ... more
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