Exhumed
Under The Knife
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| Added 1 September 2011 user Iron Man |
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Lyrics Under The Knife
[Musick & Lyrixxx - Matt Harvey]
Scalpels cleave and reave though crimson rivulets
Weaving their cold and malignant minuets
Carving out funereal figures in arcane alphabets
Scars that will never heal or forget...
Like puzzle pieces, set askew, you've come undone
The bleeding is ceaseless, you're turning blue, the end had begun
Set down in writing, flesh, blood and bone, let death be done
The pen is as mighty as the sword, sticks or stones, your end would be cast
in stone, by either one...
[Lead - Mike]
Tenderly thanatographical threads are tread and traced
Boiling blood will serve to warm this cold clinical embrace
A clean precise cut to mark this morbid meeting place
This knife - point where you and death came face to face...
The slab starts to spin around and around, as I take your hand in mine
We move step by step within, without so much as a sound, death's dark design
in time
A slice to the left, then cut back to the right, movements scripted in this
dance of the dead
Motions so deft, recalled by touch not by sight, footprints encrypted by
blood running red...
A pirouette on razor's edge leaves you breathless
Scalpels cleave and reave though crimson rivulets
Weaving their cold and malignant minuets
Carving out funereal figures in arcane alphabets
Scars that will never heal or forget...
Like puzzle pieces, set askew, you've come undone
The bleeding is ceaseless, you're turning blue, the end had begun
Set down in writing, flesh, blood and bone, let death be done
The pen is as mighty as the sword, sticks or stones, your end would be cast
in stone, by either one...
[Lead - Mike]
Tenderly thanatographical threads are tread and traced
Boiling blood will serve to warm this cold clinical embrace
A clean precise cut to mark this morbid meeting place
This knife - point where you and death came face to face...
The slab starts to spin around and around, as I take your hand in mine
We move step by step within, without so much as a sound, death's dark design
in time
A slice to the left, then cut back to the right, movements scripted in this
dance of the dead
Motions so deft, recalled by touch not by sight, footprints encrypted by
blood running red...
A pirouette on razor's edge leaves you breathless
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