| The punctured exlife slithers | |
| 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 [E.C.] [D.C.] | |
| Hiding in the shadows | |
| With the birthing now complete | |
| Pick your child up | |
| And suckle on its tiny feet | |
| Bite them off, devour the rest | |
| The body is diminished | |
| Take the hanger, lick it clean | |
| Your ordeal now is finished |
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