作曲 : McGrath, Sewage
A hammer to drive the chisel in 
A chisel to alter bone and skin 
An algid stiff to now provide 
A link to where the soul resides 
That still hearts should pulse with ichor 
Is an ethical dilemma to be sure 
That a body can be made to function 
Is an enigma to decipher without compunction 
That the dead may in mere slumber lie 
Is a query that begs us to coax a reply 
That rotting lungs shall heave with breath 
Is truly a matter of life and death 
The ressurectionists 
The ressurectionists... no more death after life (solo: "Just a Few Stitches" by T. Spruance) 
Augers employed to crack and peel 
Gilding steel teeth with paste of bone meal 
Their skulls disassembled and scored 
With sanguine expectations, meticulously gored 
To reconnect nerve filled clusters 
Our encaphalic skill, we muster 
To reinstate arterial paths 
Our hands engage in a blood bath 
To reset joint and bone 
Our mending powers are hewn 
To restart cardial beating 
Our defibrullator is heating 
The ressurectionists 
The ressurectionists... no more death after life 
Intra-venously dripping a potion 
To rekindle locomotion 
Old hat at plundering lifeless shells 
But I shall never get used to the smell (solo: "The Funk of 40,000 Years" by S.C. McGrath) 
Sutures of catgut carefully stitched 
Securing intestines in torsal pitch 
Along the sciatic, nerves are defrayed 
In our conclave, bodies remade 
This brain in a solution submerged 
From a cranium we've purged 
This jellied ganglia to reconnect 
From the medulla to the neck 
This artery and vein shall rehydrate 
From pulmonary functions we'll resuscitate 
This human tabula rasa we've sewn 
From it, coaxed, secrets to life unknown 
The ressurectionists 
The ressurectionists... no more death after life