Senile Decay (outtake)

Tearing at it's boney face It lifts it's wretched hand And tells a tale of history In hell lifes contraband Putrid smells pour from it's lips It's eyes begin to bleed Lost elixir of life Baby maggots feed It's a creature loved by children Oh if they could know the hell Hair reclining life declining Vomits at it's own sweet smell Laughing at it's ripe melasma Skin begins to rot and peel Graveolent dry catamenia Open wounds that never heal Losing all it's sense of senses Dyspnoea closing in Waiting for it's day of judgement End this phthisic state it's it Is this an eternal torment For one who tried to outlive time Will we ever know the answer Dysphony should be a crime Senile decay you've seen a million seasons Cast in hell by time for treason