Graves robbed of their coffins
The ever-bustling streets, void of their whores
Children lost in commotion
And untended beasts, vanish at night
Needles threaded with sinew
Dulled down old blades sharpened anew
Saws clad in corrosion
Rusted, worn-out teeth, yearning for blood
A master of his craft
With intent, divine
And his subjects lined up, for reconstruction
Our artisan of flesh
Has each stiffened limb
Meticulously stitched, back to function
Deep in the shadows, he's forming sculptures out of bone and of marrow
His raw material taken straight from the gallows and reinfused with insatiable hunger
The price to be reborn
Graves robbed of their coffins
The ever-bustling streets, void of their whores
Children lost in commotion
And untended beasts, vanish at night
Through years of dedication
He manufactures life
With ironclad determination
The master of his craft, is better left unknown
His disposition of flesh shall not be questioned