Birthday Dethday

Many years ago today something grew inside of your mother That thing was you You You, you, you, you Did she scream? Did she cry? Only those that are born are the ones that get to die One more year closer to dying Rotting organs ripping grinding Biological discordance Birthday equals self abhorrence Years keep passing aging always Mutate into vapid slugs Doctor gives a new perscription Bullet in a fucking gun One more year closer to dying Plastic surgeons fuel the lying You forget why you came in here Your mind rots with every new year Rsvp please For the deth of thee You have little time And you're running out of life Happy birthday You're gonna die Now you're old and full of hatred Take a pill to masturbated Children point to you and scream Because they will become that thing One more year of further suffering There's no point of fucking bluffing Open up your dethday present It's a box of fucking nothing Rsvp please For the death of thee You have little time And you're running out of life Happy birthday You're gonna die Die, die Dethday Birthday Dethday Die, die Dethday Birthday Dethday Rsvp please For the death of thee You have little time And you're running out of life Happy birthday You're gonna die You're running out of life