With a hose
No one will ever find you
The smell of your carrion hangs low in the street
Weeks of returning to relax in the meat
Butchery/morgue meets day-spa retreat
The smell of the carnage
Begin the excretement
Choice picked tidbits of ligaments
I mix for an afternoon sludge soup
Constantly craving, needing to eat shit
No escape from this place
Life condemned to rot
Pulpy ulcerous filaments
Gagged snot and clots

Send "Constipation Camp" Ringtone to your Cell