postmortem boredom

sittin in a sarcophagus, breathing in putrescence and puss. i know no lust since my skin turned to crust. how did i get here, what did i do-i dunno but i bet it has something to do with you. dead in the ground, sick to lively sound.

ive grown accustomed to smell of decay, the smell of me just rotting away and i hope it ends in a day, but it wont kuz ive got my time to pay. say what you will, but its part of the deal-im passed away and theres nothing left to say.

postmortem boredom and i feel ive lost myself in whoredom-bugs crawlin in and out and i cant even give a shout. they eat my skin, they eat from within all blood devoured, carcass gone soured. if i had a chance, i might escape to wake to the death of you, but the death of you has never been true. not to this heart will you ever part.

though you did this to me, and now you see- postmortem boredom has got the best decree.