The Birthing – Autopsy

Out your bloody gaping hole
So warm the blood runs down your legs
Your tears you can’t control
Your son or daughter (who knows which)
Is just a pile of shit
You look into what might be eyes
As your mouth flows with spit

Cradle the gelatinous thing in your arms
Leaking its fluids it’s no longer warm
A would-be life is now defunct
Glistening mass of fleshy gunk

Hiding in the shadows
With the birthing now complete
Pick your child up


Lyric The Birthing – Autopsy