| Song | Resurrectionists |
| Artist | Impaled |
| Album | Death After Life |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 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 |
| zuo qu : 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 | |
| Intravenously 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 |
| zuò qǔ : 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 | |
| Intravenously 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 |