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