The cut stretches on, the fault slips to the other.
Round the side of the skull and up to the top.
Split the divide unreasonable force.
At last we are in with feverish grins.
An itch exists to delight for the owner.
Locate to the centre at the top of the scalp.
As fingers run through, nails lashing away,
The forehead shrinks back, scalp turns to a pulp.
Now deformed and wild,
With all fluids leaking finally released.
No longer serving, no more producing
No sizzling, no violent obtrusion.
Lumps of bone mixed with flesh on the floor.
A reeking still leaking, eyes frightened and searching.
Surgery put a hole in it, start at the back and turn left.
Incise the surface, pulsing and waiting.
Scratcher goes silent, possessor no more.
Bulging dead on the floor, suppression no more.
Sanguinious crust at the top of the head
Now is no more and the itch has gone dead.
Scratcher in the Mash Video (MV)
Performed By: Modern Rituals
Length: 3:25
Written by: Thomas Hill, Robert Hollamby, Jake Dore, Harry Fanshawe
Modern Rituals - Scratcher in the Mash Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
The cut stretches on, the fault slips to the other.
Round the side of the skull and up to the top.
Split the divide unreasonable force.
At last we are in with feverish grins.
An itch exists to delight for the owner.
Locate to the centre at the top of the scalp.
As fingers run through, nails lashing away,
The forehead shrinks back, scalp turns to a pulp.
Now deformed and wild,
With all fluids leaking finally released.
No longer serving, no more producing
No sizzling, no violent obtrusion.
Lumps of bone mixed with flesh on the floor.
A reeking still leaking, eyes frightened and searching.
Surgery put a hole in it, start at the back and turn left.
Incise the surface, pulsing and waiting.
Scratcher goes silent, possessor no more.
Bulging dead on the floor, suppression no more.
Sanguinious crust at the top of the head
Now is no more and the itch has gone dead.
Round the side of the skull and up to the top.
Split the divide unreasonable force.
At last we are in with feverish grins.
An itch exists to delight for the owner.
Locate to the centre at the top of the scalp.
As fingers run through, nails lashing away,
The forehead shrinks back, scalp turns to a pulp.
Now deformed and wild,
With all fluids leaking finally released.
No longer serving, no more producing
No sizzling, no violent obtrusion.
Lumps of bone mixed with flesh on the floor.
A reeking still leaking, eyes frightened and searching.
Surgery put a hole in it, start at the back and turn left.
Incise the surface, pulsing and waiting.
Scratcher goes silent, possessor no more.
Bulging dead on the floor, suppression no more.
Sanguinious crust at the top of the head
Now is no more and the itch has gone dead.
Writer: Thomas Hill, Robert Hollamby, Jake Dore, Harry Fanshawe
Copyright: Lyrics © Sentric Music
Copyright: Lyrics © Sentric Music