Inpropagation

Insipid fumes bellow from the atrabilious chimney

Whilst in the sanctified crevet I calmly pillage and rake

For hot dry powdered human slag

Still steaming in the crematorium's grate

Bio-organic ebullition, bones tar, tallow dehydrates

For my deleterious horticulture so that I may cultivate

Your mortal mechanism dies - in nutrients rich

In the hallowed turf you lie - just for the taking

Charred sinew's as good as lime, no phosphates do I need

Deteriorated flesh used as top-soil, to replenish and nourish seed

Spreading this human potash, as ash matured

Recycling my rich harvest, bring out your dead for use as manure

Irrigating tears are shed, but the ground still must be fed

Tipping and dusting up the spilt contents of urns

Every morsel that glows like ember on the fire

Extinguishing all hope of beatrific dispatch

These charred chassis desired

Exequiet rites now performed, a coronach sooting up the flu

Enter my execrable inferno, even in the after-life there's work to do

The nitrogen content's high - but the flesh is weak

At the graveside mourners cry - you're never to wake again

Burnt brisket renews the ground, to germinate my seed

Cremated bodies are my spoil, to use them as plant-feed

Ploughing this abhorrent human manure

Seeding my rich harvest, bring out your dead for the soils to devour

Dry the dead are bled, because the ground must be fed

And there's still no rest for the dead

I propagate - dust in the grate

Ashes to ashes - dust to dust, diluted in water and sprayed on crops

Charcoal, fats, flesh and soot fertilising pasture with active fertile rot

Incumbent - latent calories are spent

Ashes to ashes - dust to dust renewing the land with corpses corrupt

Mortuary scrapings, hearses a must

To the hot hearth the deceased are trussed

Harvesting the defouled, to fertilize my soil

Rejuvenating the spent with my fecundate spoils

Reaping the gone, to nourish the land

Replenishing exhausted pasture with my uncanny sleight of hand

Restoring the unnatural balance, sowing my seed

Defalcating the departed, I rapt and glean

So I recite my contrite lament, lacrimation for the dead

Their rest which I disturb

Where should stand row upon row of cold grey remembrance stones

My cash crops now grow