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It smells like a wet dog or is that just my breath?

My beard it smells of blood, my gas is reeking death

Clothes are stained with mud, eyes are bloodshot red

I know it’s nothing good to be an animal in my head

In my head I see a beast eating its own brains

We’re the same

The shadow that it casts is my frame

We’re the same

A swamp of swirling fumes that turns within my stomach

Like the halls to open rooms, the fluids flood and rummage

My organs are like tombs into which you’ll plummet

The limbs you’ll have to lose so I can eat within my budget

Disassembly, delicacy, the smell of meat, pickle the feet

A rotted pile of vegetative mush drips down a shelf lined with jars

Packed to the lids with meats of indeterminate origin

They say that I’ve changed, well that’s the point of my ways

They say that I’ve changed, well if true - who’s to blame?