Phobophile

(albüm: None So Vile - 1996)

In the kitchen
With a screaming triple amputee...
Its completion depends solely on my needs...
Said amputee's stumps
Are my way of saying... "Thank you just for being you"
Its fear tastes better than its limbs

Terror of morality
I draw from the slowly dying damned
Monsters live behind my eyes
I let them out and people die
And all the grave worms
That come for their piece of meat?
I give them dead things...
The wretched living are mine alone

Fright mounts with the body count
To which anthropomancy predicts a decline
In all of God's creation
Can there be a lifestyle that's better than this?

I mark my territory
With their blood and excritement and adipocere...
I can find my way in the dark
My fulfillment is habitually necromanic and anal abusive...
Seen through the eyes of a mortician

They've "caught" me, as they call it
My teeth and my semen have betrayed me... Nevermore!
Tests to gauge my rationale
The likes of which these feeble minds have never seen

Rorschach blotters
My responses to which inspire fear...
From my lizard side
The amoral alien speaks
"These aren't butterflies
I see a face I'd like to burn"

Obfuscation
Of the authorities with lies
And my nature
Alability to charm and be me
Or whoever they want
I've known all minds by divine right