Inpropagation – Carcass – letras

Insipid fumes bellow from the atrabilious chimneyWhilst in the sanctified crevet I calmly pillage and rakeFor hot dry powdered human slagStill steaming in the crematorium’s grateBio-organic ebullition, bones tar, tallow dehydratesFor my deleterious horticulture so that I may cultivateYour mortal mechanism dies – in nutrients richIn the hallowed turf you lie – just for the takingCharred sinew’s as good as lime, no phosphates do I needDeteriorated flesh used as top-soil, to replenish and nourish seedSpreading this human potash, as ash maturedRecycling my rich harvest, bring out your dead…for use as manure…Irrigating tears are shed, but the ground still must be fedTipping and dusting up the spilt contents of urnsEvery morsel that glows like ember on the fireExtinguishing all hope of beatrific dispatchThese charred chassis desiredExequiet rites now performed, a coronach sooting up the fluEnter my execrable inferno, even in the after-life there’s work to doThe nitrogen content’s high – but the flesh is weakAt the graveside mourners cry – you’re never to wake againBurnt brisket renews the ground, to germinate my seedCremated bodies are my spoil, to use them as plant-feedPloughing this abhorrent human manureSeeding my rich harvest, bring out your dead…for the soils to devour…Dry the dead are bled, because the ground must be fedAnd there’s still no rest for the deadI propagate – dust in the grateAshes to ashes – dust to dust, diluted in water and sprayed on cropsCharcoal, fats, flesh and soot fertilising pasture with active fertile rotIncumbent – latent calories are spentAshes to ashes – dust to dust renewing the land with corpses corruptMortuary scrapings, hearses a must, to the hot hearth the deceased are trussedHarvesting the defouled, to fertilize my soilRejuvenating the spent with my fecundate spoils…Reaping the gone, to nourish the landReplenishing exhausted pasture with my uncanny sleight of handRestoring the unnatural balance, sowing my seedDefalcating the departed, I rapt and glean…So I recite my contrite lament, lacrimation for the deadTheir rest which I disturb…Where should stand row upon row of cold grey remembrance stones