---

The laboratory door is at the end of the hallway

Puddles of grime with bits of hair and flesh along the floor

And fingernail fragments sticking out of the walls

A stale and frigid air escapes from underneath the heavy door

From inside the lab the feeble cries can be heard

Of the creations derived from Dr. Slaughter's sick mind

Dried crimson death is splattered onto the ground

Disheveled stained gurneys are strewn all around

Operating tables centered in the bright room

Show the remains of experiments gone atrociously wrong

The laboratory wall is lined with the doctor's tools

Jagged and luminous instruments of death

Dilators and clamps, aspirators and forceps

An abundance of drugs for keeping tame his poor subjects

Menacing shears for ripping open a chest

Chisels and knives designed for tearing up flesh

Needles and sutures used to put back together

The misshapen creations of the mad doctor's mind

Entering the room, the doctor is in

Ready to see his first unfortunate patient

Come into the light, he will fix you up right

This won't hurt a bit

In here no one can hear your screams

No escaping from this terrible dream

So give up an life and accept your fate

I'm sorry sir, your diagnosis was wrong