It's Chilly In This Grave

[Instrumental] Putrefaction, the grim dance of decay, Where life's vibrant hues fade to gray. In nature's grand cycle, it plays its part, Breaking down matter, a macabre art. From flesh to bone, it takes its toll, As microbes feast and organisms roll. The stench of death fills the air, A reminder of life's transient affair. In the depths of soil or the ocean's deep, Putrefaction's grip, nothing can keep. It transforms the once living, now inert, A solemn reminder of nature's assert. Yet from this process, life finds its way, In the fertile ground where decay holds sway. For from death springs forth the new, In the endless cycle, life continues. In the symphony of existence, death plays its part, Yet from its grasp, new beginnings start. So let us embrace this cycle, both grim and grand, For in its rhythm, life finds its stand.