Thrash/Death Metal (Swe).
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Intensifying mould upon your putrid body
Attracts the insects beneath your fucking skin
Genetic disease, ties you on to the rack
Insatiable worms gnaw your flesh 'til it's black
Feel the blood spill, from your gaping mouth
Your body is deformed, slowly turning inside out
Compulsive dying, you're eaten alive
Squirm in pain 'til the last drop of blood
Convulsive retch, you're better off dead
All you need is a bullet through your head
Septic boulds of flesh, reoccur on your skin
Squeeze fluid from these fungoid vesicles
Pulsating veins, pump the virus around
You suffer from an infectious merry-go-round
A look in the mirror, reveals your rotting head
You scream in panic for an immidiate death
Conpulsive dying...
Better off dead - better off fucking dead
Pathetic attempts to kill, your uninvited guests
The insects are breeding, in your tangled tissues
The grim truth lurks, deep in your subconscious
You laugh in content at your premature burial
Comfort in the grave, buried with a smile on your face
An incubus corpse, in its final resting place
Compulsive dying...
Comfort in the grave...