[Musick & Lyrixxx - Matt Harvey]
|
|
In my waxen world, time stands still
|
Forever frozen like flies trapped in amber
|
One perfect moment preserved, just ere the kill
|
Gruesome atrocities transfixed in horror's chamber
|
|
Poetry without motion, figures stranded midstream
|
Waxen players in this dark drama of the macabre
|
Mouths agape with terror but breathless to scream
|
No death rattle heard, nor parting sors...
|
|
I am preserver of life through my morbid art
|
For each mannequin was truly alive from the start
|
So if the eyes seem to follow your gaze as you gawk
|
Know that in the eyes of the dead, in their shadow you walk...
|
|
Cadavers molded in wax as their lives buried away
|
More preening puppets to perform in the scenes that I play
|
Features cast in the moment of dying preserved
|
How they screamed as they met with their fates well deserved...
|
|
WAXWORK
|
|
Recreating the horror of the moment of death
|
My models serve their purpose quite well
|
Embalm their bodies in wax, capture their dying breath
|
Drain the fluids to stave off the smell
|
|
Like dolls that dance to their own funeral dirge
|
They play out their death scenes interminably
|
As prized their exhibits in my dark reserve
|
They unfold their secrets only to me
|
|
Life eternal in wax was their death's decree
|
Suffering for my art, they surrendered to me
|
So when their eyes lock with your gaze
|
Look unflinchingly at death or turn away fast...
|
|
Skin blistered and softened as it was coated and sealed away
|
Another preserved puppet to prance on the strings that I play
|
The fear ensnared in their captive countenances I've trapped
|
Mummified and memorialised in wax well-woven and wrapped...
|
|
WAXWORK
|
|
[Lead - Matt]
|
|
So sit still in your place at the end of the blade
|
By my design, death's hand find you just out of reach
|
Another player in this deathly silent world that I have made
|
Devoid of sound, fury or motion, sense, movement or speech
|
|
Awaiting a terminus that never will come
|
You're a marionette bound by my strings
|
Trussed in this tomb of wax, your time here is not done
|
For time does not quite end all things...
|
|
This is my life's work, this still, silent place
|
A monument to the fear frozen in a cold, waxen face
|
Take care not to stare into their eyes, whatever you do
|
When you look deep into death, it sees back into you too...
|
|
Flesh bubbled and scalded, as this molten bath washed life away
|
Wax covered my still-screaming prey
|
Another piece for my prizing, recast in my mold
|
Features harden and set as the wax grows stiff and cold...
|
|
WAXWORK
|
|
-----------------
|
Waxwork
|
Exhumed |