Lyrics:

All the world's indeed a corpse, and we are merely maggots Dead on arrival is our only course, and if the toe fits, tag it Sycophants, we're writhing blind, feeding off each others' regurgitation Disgorging whatever waste we find, breeding our degradation with each exhalation... Lambs to the slaughter Feast of fools upon the fodder No trompe l'oreil to behold Just a wretched drama to unfold... Gnarled within this mortal coil Within which the voracious feebly toil Enamored of our own disease We revel in our own grotesqueries... Dissecting ourselves to find nothing alive Just a mass of perversely animated pieces Nothing within worthwhile to revive We're mired knee-deep in our own fetid feces Gorging our gnawing jaws with our own pathological waste Like grubs wriggling in the rank feast of decay We grind our own bones into dust each futile step we take As we inch unseeing through day after day... Consumer or consumed We all end up as chyme and grume Upon the fetid mass we choke Leaving us in no position to appreciate the sick joke... Twisted through this mortal coil Now our unctuous desserts are brought to a boil Somewhere between the living and the deceased We gag on the feast of our grotesqueries... [Lead - Mike] Too consumed by consumption to see our own ends We're all dead and only getting deader Digging our own graves into which we gladly descend In this cold coil we're shackled and fettered As we ingest each others' waste, in a frenzied feeding rush Leaving everything sick and dead in our wake Devouring each other in ravening, unheeding crush As we gorge ourselves on all the tripe and offal we can intake...-a