作词 : Owen, Steer, Walker
作曲 : Ken Owen/Bill Steer/Jeff Walker
  (Music: Owen, Steer)
 (Lyrics: Walker)
 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
 And there's no rest for the dead
 (Lead fills: Dust in the mausoleum by W.G. Steer)
 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
 (Lead: Compost humous horticulture by M. Amott)
 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
 Seedling 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
 (Lead: Humanure by W.G. Steer)
 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 fertilise 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...