Resurrectionists Lyrics - Impaled

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 

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 defibrillator is heating 

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 

Intra-venously dripping a potion 

To rekindle locomotion 

Old hat at plundering lifeless shells 

But I shall never get used to the smell 

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 

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