Worming - Exhumed

A slithering, voracious host descends\nConsuming decay as your thorax ferments\nBlindly they hunger, unsated they feast\nCountless they number, their repast the deceased\nInfesting, digesting\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming\nFlesh turns to liquid, discolored and foul\nAs the necrovores gorge on your now-livid bowels\nSquelching they burrow as your corpse goes to seed\nAt your nostrils they nibble, in your brain they now feed\nYour decay, their entree\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming\nAn abhorrent appetite, for bilious, bloated blight\nA sick and loathsome sight, mouthless they feed, toothless they bite\nCrawling across your face, your features soon erased\nFlesh now a runny paste, witless they waste, tongueless they taste\nWhat remains of your remains is a carnal junk heap\nLiquefaction oozes, bubbles and seeps\nStill they writhe and devour your steaming entrails\nA full belly the reward for their repugnant travails\nVoracious, rapacious\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming\nWorming through a maze of flesh\nWrithing in their feast of death\nSquirming till there’s nothing left\nWorming