Потап и Настя Коменских Все пучком

For every life I take, an ecosystem I create
Blood and guts consumes my life.
I am the "Brutal Gardener", I "Quantity Controller"
No more insane than Jesus Christ.

Forgive my humble abode
Rotting bodies clogging the commode
Please pardon the stench
And the trunk of a man lying on the workbench.

Out by the shed are buzzing hives made of human heads
The gestation of larvae tells us the time of death.

Decomposition,
An exhibition of life
That springs from tragedy.
Degeneration,
Breakdown and maturation of DNA:
The residue of death.

The twilight falls on maggots burrowing in flesh
Dead, the dead now dead as can be.
The cadaver now giving life harmoniously
A God, this makes me a God.

This is absurd and quite obscene,
The corruption of human beings
My back yard now a goddamned crime scene.

I am the ying, I am the yang
Good and evil are one in the same
No more insane than Jesus Christ.

The smell is part of the charm when you live on a "Body Farm"
I walk with the stench of decay along corpse
Littered paths at the break of the day.

Ah, the irony in being a killer,
Yet in the crime-solving community, I am a pillar
A corpse turns to mulch with a good roto-tiller…

I kill for the good of man.

Decomposition,
A morbid demonstration
The cycle of life
In all its majesty.
Degeneration,
Curdling fermentation of heaps
And heaps of human meat.

The twilight falls on maggots burrowing in flesh
Dead, the dead now dead as can be
The cadaver now giving life harmoniously
A God, this makes me a God.