Song parody of
Exquisite Dish
by Rob Getzschman
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Convict them now of everything they most deny
And the louder they yell, the closer you are to right
Oh, the shadows of the soul wish least to recognize themselves
And diffuse among the deepest blues where undertakers delve
The feeble faith in unconsidered truth
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
What beautiful death doesn't offer herself as bride?
The schism stretching wants and woes defied
And what man, standing at the gates of hell would not decide
His own soul, when yet uncondemned, to indulge a look inside and find
A place of seeming sweetness to reside
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
In truth, there exists no original sin
Be it chained to us, or we to the cave that we're in
For what transgression hasn't been tried time and time again
And what man told doth truly know the wisdom he wallows in
That when he buys it's he who is being sold
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
These buffet tables of rot, this crumbling bazaar
The carrion plates so plainly seen from afar
The sickly stench of every stew assumes a sweet perfume
What appetite whet could ere regret the clutter it now consumes
A gourmet feast of evil not to forget
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
Convict them now of everything they most deny
And the louder they yell, the closer you are to right
Oh, the shadows of the soul wish least to recognize themselves
And diffuse among the deepest blues where undertakers delve
The feeble faith in unconsidered truth
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
What beautiful death doesn't offer herself as bride?
The schism stretching wants and woes defied
And what man, standing at the gates of hell would not decide
His own soul, when yet uncondemned, to indulge a look inside and find
A place of seeming sweetness to reside
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
In truth, there exists no original sin
Be it chained to us, or we to the cave that we're in
For what transgression hasn't been tried time and time again
And what man told doth truly know the wisdom he wallows in
That when he buys it's he who is being sold
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
These buffet tables of rot, this crumbling bazaar
The carrion plates so plainly seen from afar
The sickly stench of every stew assumes a sweet perfume
What appetite whet could ere regret the clutter it now consumes
A gourmet feast of evil not to forget
Gouge my eyes with bliss, it seems like one exquisite dish
