The Morticians Flame

Hunter of tears, relative pain
 half of this world is dark with the stain
 the stain of unknowing
 the dead flower buds,
 on smiling lips is innocent blood
 the corpse of your god can only rot and grow cold
 now promise me you'll kill me before i get old
 i hear you on the telephone
 moaning my doom
 a cold woman will kill me in a darkened room
 just enough, a heart attack
 seal up my black body bag
 take me home and hate me, love
 bite the hand of our lost love
 take your time and take your life
 amputate with this dull knife
 heaven's meat is on the stick
 stir my pain with an ice pick
 pick, pick, pick
 pick, pick, pick
 pick, pick, pick
 the chain-saw smile of the mortician shines
 i still got all my fingers but somewhere i lost my mind
 i can smell abortion on you
 i can see through
 i take the gun out of my mouth and point it at you