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Lubing up the machine which is set to erase

Left over waste, never to be traced

Grinding the excess remains from my post-mortem pile

Snorting the dust, I am a necrophile

The smell is rank, my creation is dank

Forcing the crank, my expressions are blank

You too can create the drug of death

And become part of my shibboleth

Creating the stew, only takes a few

Prep the seed, but don’t clean

The recipe is as follows:

To achieve the infinity high

First, Mummify your supply

Then, putrefy and toxify to liquify

Any emotions, you must nullify

Preserve it in sight, with no sunlight

In a healthy pool of phosphite

Don’t worry about the Fahrenheit

Just make sure it is timed right

Decomposition ripeness is the key

Wait a month or two, maybe three

Make sure there is meat and flesh

You’re looking for a green orange mesh

Once done, strain the vat

Scrape out the splat

Let dry, and dehumidify

Once emulsified, grind out the fungi

Fine powdered dust

Abuse the soylent husk

Partake in the crematorial intake

And you too, will awake

Partake in the crematorial intake

And you too, will awake