Description:

2003 EP featuring unreleased songs and covers from the Mondo Medicale recording sessions, a music video, and live tracks. The European version was released with tracks from the Choice Cuts EP instead of the music video due to government regulations.

Songs:

1. Raise the Stakes
2. The Hearse (Deadbolt cover)
3. Choice Cuts
4. tourette's (Nirvana cover)
5. Gross Anatomy
6. Until Death... (dead)
7. Back to the Grave (dead)
8. Operating Theatre (CD-Rom Video)

Line-up:

Andrew LaBarre - guitar and vocals
Sean McGrath - guitar and vocals
Ross Sewage - bass and vocals
Raul Varela - drums

Production:

Tracks 1-5 engineered by Mauphistopholes Acevedo and Andrew LaBarre at DigitSound, 2002
Tracks 6-7 recorded by Andrew LaBarre at the Pound in S.F., April 21, 2002
Mixed by Andrew LaBarre at DigitSound, 2002
Video directed by Sean McGrath, 2002
Mastered By Colon Davis at Imperial Mastering, 2003

Artwork:

cover - Ross Sewage, Sean McGrath
layout - Sean McGrath, Ross Sewage, John Nelson

Label:

Necropolis Records - America
Century Media - Europe

Lyrics:

1. Raise the Stakes
music - Andre LaBarre and Sean McGrath
lyrics - Ross Sewage

(solo: "Full-Body Piercing" by A.S. LaBarre)

An aceldama littered with corpses, withered
Cerebrum spills from heads hacked in twain
Incarnadine shower across land scoured
Quenching the sod, the blood of the slain
Battles we've fought and conquests we've wrought
In wholesale slaughter, embroiled
Harvesting dead for our dinner spread
To the victors, the fruit of the spoiled

A quartet of gorelords, reigning in blood
Sweetmeats are ablated in a sanguine flood
Survivors of the melee are illaqueated
Deigned as pabulation, impinguated

Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
Flagitations have all failed
Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
Tapered pikes piercing entrails

Trodding down a path, beset on each side
By the ganched and their horrisonant cries
Astride cacuminated poles, they point the way
To an arescent feast celebrating victory

Heartily whiff a myriad of stenches
Putrescine platters brought forth by wenches
Cruor bullion, the soup du jour
Into tankards, claret is poured
Crapulous carousing, the de rigueur

Dehiscent lungs bellow gargled parlance
Supplying ambience

Caitiff factions sullied our names
Beseiging their lands, we staked our claims
With their progeny dead and women caught
Now the impaled shall rot

Culled from a paladin's remains
The redolant guts of peditastellus slain
Culinary skills are put to the test
For a seven corpse meal we can't wait to ingest

From on high, the beleagured cry of suffering
Stuck like pigs on acicular sticks, uncontrolled blubbering
Atop gavelocks, punctured gralloch haemorrhage, therein
Their final view of this motley crew eating finewed kin

(solo: "Slow Death" by S.C. McGrath)

Sean, rip off their flesh
Ross, bring me a glass of blood
Raul, prepare to make carcass stew

Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
No body left unnassailed
Raise the stakes, leave them all impaled
These life times we have curtailed

Gullets full of tripe harvested from foes
Through haughty engorgement, their flesh we have disposed
Skeletons lanced and left dangling in the air
Of our wrathful scourge, a grave reminder

2. The Hearse
music - Diana Death
lyrics - Diana Death

3. Choice Cuts
music - Andrew LaBarre
lyrics - Ross Sewage

Parasitic worm buried in a womb
Another being born for our abuses
To serve mankind, it need not grow up
When inherently it has such nutritional uses

Graven goulash, make it posh
Sanguine soufflé, morbid maître d'

Gutted entrails brewing... choice cuts
Ruptured pustules spewing
Immature giblet pudding... choice cuts
Infanticidal cooking

I'm the ghoul of the culinary profession
Preparing this toddler for a meal
Served up with ghastly garnishes
A lividinous glaze congeals
Making use of my recipe selection
A myriad of ways to do the infant
Each dish stirring up my appetite
To engage in abortive devourement

Cleavers and whisks, my tools of dissection
A gas powered stove my crematory
The fridge acts as the juvenile's morgue
In a kitchen so bloody and gory

The body carbonizes in my oven
The stuffing held in by sutures
Ingredients from an embrionic sac
The act of an obstetrical butcher
Repeatedly basted in menstruation
Endometrium set aside for a toast
The once smoothe skin now crackles and burns
This will surely stunt its growth

Graven goulash, make it posh
Sanguine soufflé, morbid maître d'

(solo: "The Other White Meat" by A.S. LaBarre)

Prone on the dining room table
The babe is subjected to my fork
As I consume the first helpings
I delight in my toil and work
I clean my plate of all its dressings
Grazing on all the putrid gore
Merely whetting my taste buds
I am disposed to fix up some more

Candle-light flickers off my best china
The silver's been polished to a gleam
Despite masticating post-martem abortions
I'm more civilized than it may seem

Graven goulash, make it posh
Sanguine soufflé, morbid maître d'

4. tourette's
music - Kurt Cobain
lyrics - Kurt Cobain

5. Gross Anatomy
music - Ross Sewage
lyrics - Ross Sewage

Feared by dogmatics and systematically oppressed
Science my crime, medicine I confess
Bearers of ignorance put a halt to my work
For in the coronal plane is where I would lurk
Forced underground, six feet deep is precise
A labour for knowledge by my own device
Maggots and worms my constant companions
Pillaging crypts and defiling their coffins

Archaic alchemists must be put to rest
Notions of prima matter I'll test
When the casket's exhumed and I've broken the seal
It's surely just flesh and blood I'll reveal

A nidorous air pervades through my lab
A noxious bi-product of the stiff on the slab
I meticulously sketch the skins contours and grains
Then probe sub-cutaneously for arteries and veins
Methodical excision to lay bare the bones
For understanding of anatomical unknowns
Though necrosis makes the facts harder to confer
I'm proud to be a cadaverous cartographer

Slicing through mortal shells
Discerning the secrets they tell
Engaged in necrology
Gross anatomy

Surgery on fresh human corpses
A putrid employ to read what the gore says
Knowledge my aim, blasphemes they claim
Negating all their spiritual discourses

(solo: "Quæ Prosunt Omnibus Artibus" by S.C. McGrath)

Retractors split open the chest cavity
Ocular scopes provide a glimpse into humanity...
Inhumanity

Excavations are clear
There is no soul here

(solo: "Tales From The Crypt" by A.S. LaBarre)
(solo: "The Vitruvian Man" by S.C. McGrath)
(solo: "Encyclopædia Anatomica" by A.S. LaBarre)

A labyrinth of nerves and muscles explored
Their designs in my necronomicon are stored
Spinal tendrils extend through all planes
Cognition lies not in the heart but the brain
Visceral gears are each recorded and weighed
A corporeal blueprint for mankind I have made
Surrounded by disemboweled organs, it would seem
We are all nothing but organic machines

Slicing through mortal shells
Discerning the secrets they tell
Engaged in necrology
Gross anatomy

6. Until Death...
music - Sean McGrath
lyrics - Ross Sewage

The life-giving ichor streaming through my veins
A curse from which I deign to be released
For your obsession is one I cannot satisfy
The frigid touch of the recently deceased

Occupied at the morgue, exsanguinating husks
Man-handling a corpse, I uncovered my desire
I can only be gratified by working stiffs
For me to climax, your life must expire

To be or not to be, is that the question?
I long to see you with a death-white complexion
Expunge my innards and commit mortal sin
You must flay your skin to bear what's within
An irrevocable decision, my suicide
I long to rummage through your insides
A borderline fetish that in life can't be tried
My ecstatic release is for what you will have died

Release your offal in a sanguineous tide

Prostrate fornent instruments of destruction
A slit in the crotch and a blade is cached in
The arterial spray and rivulets of gore
My gonads expelled, the pangs like a virgin

Avulsed intestines are meretriciously discarded
Harvesting kidneys, you comport as your reaper
Incised and excised, you bleed for me
Excavating your torso, you go deeper and deeper

An incision to the abdomen to justify my love
With entrails exposed, I'll find you a cut above
I want to hold your hand when my fingers are degloved
Express yourself by showing what you're made of
After hacking genitalia I see I am sterile
Convulse and regurgitate to sample your own bile
Diced liver and stomach, so normally reviled
Are on the sheets so lovingly compiled

The beauty of a fibrillating heart
Until death do we part

(solo: "Arrythmia and Blues" by S.C. McGrath)

No union as strong as this
Your (my) fate is sealed with a kiss
There lies such sexual bliss
In articulo mortis

Chopped to the bone, your flesh is rent
Tissues morbid, bodily fluids are spent
Human infarction, bloody eruption
Exfoliating dermis, self-inflicted dissection

I espy a ray of light as my life ebbs away
I enter into the abominable display
My heart on my sleeve, sheets, and negligee
I cherish this final auto-da-fe
Having reached the end of my life's breadth
I'll delve into your organs and explore your depth
Orgasm as I exhale my last breath
We have cum to consumate this death

The beauty of a fibrillating heart
Until death do we part

From this mortal coil depart

7. Back to the Grave
music - Ross Sewage
lyrics - Ross Sewage

Exhumed, debauched and consumed
My torpid flesh has been sullied by your spunk
And I have played privy to your necrotic whimsy
You so enjoyed inhaling my decrepit funk
My organs and entrails you delightfully assailed
Thrashing mound of thoracic de-activity
A lover you have found, six feet down
Licking from my skin the moist lividity

Torn from the tomb for your lustful desire
My fouled viscera are what you admire
An unholy union on a funeral pyre
A caseated carcass really lights your fire

A sickening treat under the sheets
The rigor mortis of love can be hard
And the love that we have made, from the grave I was laid
Rubbing your genitals in my congealing lard
A glistening liver and ensanguined gut
The erotic intestines of this grumous mound
Embalming fluid and morticians Y-cut
Turn you on as my omentum you pound

Humiliated corpse, insults are compiled
Penetrated rectum, no guilt reconciled
Laid in a repose with a grisly smile
Used and abused, my existence defiled

I'm a lover of the dead, as a corpse you'll share my bed, but your usefulness is bled
Back to the grave
I've had my sick fun, but now I am done, it's time for you to cum
Back to the grave
Our affair is through, I've no more use for you, you've paid your deathly dues
Back to the grave
We've shared death throes, but my love has decomposed, and now you will go
Back to the grave

Once you needed me
But now you'll go solo

(solo: "Death's Sweet Embrace" by S.C. McGrath)

Callously flaying your skin, no cum-passion, I confess
Revealing muscles and tendons to lasciviously caress
The object of my dissection, a fœtid mate at best
Relentlessly tugging at heart strings through a hole I tore in the chest

(solo: "Rending a Broken Heart" by L.d. Muerte)

Employing a probing tool to penetrate the dry orifice
Grinding pus and masticating grume, I ram the ass with my fist
Be not distraught as your cadaver I drop, the remains of your lips I kiss
Thoroughly infested with maggots, your body has brought me such bliss

Sanguine amour
Dead meat to crave
Putrid carcass
Cannot be saved
Back to the grave

Supple white flesh, bleached with death
Masturbate on my maggot eaten face
The cold touch of the dead (it has been said)
Can inspire a necromantic craze
You partook in love and human remains
With my disinterred body you were chuffed
But as I fall to pieces near the end
My rottenness will force a break-up

Sever my skull and I'll give you head
About your boudoir my limbs are spread
But with your hunger for death now fed
This relationship is dead

8. Operating Theatre music - Sean McGrath
lyrics - Ross Sewage

Baiting the vain and aesthetically challenged
To my office of promise and false hope
Demarcating lines of incision for corporeal revision
The foundation laid for a malpractical joke

Tranquilized and secured on a gurney
Associates throng for the spectacle on which they thrive
Unconsciousness no escape as you lay wide awake
Our peers observe as your placed under knife

We'd like to welcome you to the operating theatre

My scalpel marks perforations on your countenance
Volsella securely fastened as I pull
As ligature is excised with no anasthesia
I'm sure you'll find this process quite painful

Fourteen bones degloved as periosteum is exposed
Bereft of palpebra, eyes starve for moisture
The nasal conchae and zygoma
Under chisel and mallet shall fissure

A jovial soirée for which our comrades have gathered
Relinquished admission and collude in our laughter
They applaud the disfiguring with needless suffering
From this mutilation there will be no recovering

An abscinded face we'll replace with your posterior
Gaze through a brown-eye as your shit-faced in the mirror
Your visage is your end, the lips a sphincter instead
In our surgical troupe you're cast as the shit-head

Piercing adipose tissue
With rusted hooks and screws
To keep the crowd amused
You'll break a leg or two
With needle and ink I stain
Your skin, with text profane
No part is left unmaimed
This show's rather insane

We'll knock 'em dead in the operating theatre
The show must gore on in the operating theatre

As the curtain falls on another corpus-plasty
Chains jangle when the flesh they're sewn in twitches
You shant miss your cue as your body we abuse
It's not the audience, but you we've left in stitches

(solo: "Le Grand Guignol" by S.C. McGrath)

The operating theatre