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    The sound of vomiting to my ears like singing
    Now I am beginning to become erect
    With illness I am obsessed in the beds of the fallen I rest
    A fixation amplified the smell here is what I like best

    Feverishly vombing the buckets of waste wrapping myself in the filth-ridden sheets
    Raping the shells of the comatose to fulfill my needs

    Photographing bedsores cultured by my sick neglect
    It's more than a job it's a love for me to walk this close with death
    When you hear a flat line you know surely I'll be near
    To when the reaper's sickle is drawn I am ever aware

    I wish I could pull these strings in death there are finer things
    Malpractice forever be my bitter name

    How quickly life does fade away
    But a flip of the river mans coin
    Could send you screaming to your grave

    Grief stricken family watches on ceaseless prayers for an only son
    "I'm afraid that nothing can be done" the moment has finally come
    The wrath of a god exemplified to the pearly gates he'll soon arrive
    To leave here his husk in this room of white I'm quivering at thought

    Pull the plug I'm begging you take the ride to the cold and blue
    The reapers yellowed lichen fingers aims ever so true
    The orgins of disease to be witnessed in my dreams
    The flooding of the blackest blood to quence my fetid needs

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