Blasphemy Made Flesh

by Cryptopsy

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GENO thumbnail
GENO classic technical death metal, with an absolute nasty bass. Favorite track: Abigor.
Grimmrobe thumbnail
Grimmrobe Like taking a fistful of nails to the face until it turns to swiss cheese, BMF stands as a quintessential precursor to the savage classic None So Vile. Favorite track: Swine of the Cross.
Andres Avellaneda Mejia
Andres Avellaneda Mejia thumbnail
Andres Avellaneda Mejia When you have jon levasseur, flo mounier and lord worm on the same team, great things are bound to happen. This record was the beginning of something special. It exposes the hunger and energy these guys had during the early stages of their career. Also the production sound of this record is perfect. The good ol days of analog and tape recording. You can tell every note interpreted here was played by a human being. Favorite track: Serial Messiah.


released November 25, 1994

Lord Worm - vocals
Jon Levasseur - lead and rhythm guitars
Steve Thibault - rhythm guitar, backing vocals
Martin Fergusson - bass
Flo Mounier - drums, backing vocals

Canada: Eric Galy -Email:
North America: Tone Deaf Touring – Jacob DeVries -Email:
Europe: MAD Touring – Tim Bartsch – Email:
Management: Extreme Management Group: Joann Gullo –


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Cryptopsy Montréal, Québec

Cryptopsy is an influential extreme metal band from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. For over 20 years, they have sculpted and pushed the boundaries of their metal genre.

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Track Name: Defenestration
Oh what a gal!
She seems such a perfect victim:
This I can tell, for if beauty by guilt,
she’s guilty
I’d not wish to frighten her or hurt her,
But such beauty inspires one
to give the gift of murder
She’s the kind of girl you want to
run up and tackle through a window some floors up
and spatter you both to hell
Come and get it;
your stuffed bunny’s at the window,
But not that far out…
Reach little one! Reach!…
Tantalized a child is want to
take a ill-considered
course of action; such is life:
is experience not bitter?
Leaning too far
out the open attic casement window,
baby plummets
to a messy death not so far below
Rend your flesh to ribbons
on shards of broken glass,
fading screams and abruptly:
Track Name: Abigor
O most luscious cenobite,
you wield your whip
as though it were another appendage;
Favor me with pleasure-pain,
rip me with your claws
Chew me with your saw-toothed cunt
Dead eyes alive with darkness to match their sockets,
they blaze with unmatched cruelty
Leave those long thorns embedded in your scalp,
They look stuck in far enough to hurt
Hell’s polyhedron has blessed you
Your peerless beauty drips of sin
In this time of configuration,
blessed order shall prevail
Two sides to the war on flesh
Leviathan, who can’t smile, beams
Encased in leather as it is,
I can’t drink from your neck
It shall remain its soft, cold, blue-white:
I’ll bind your pround breasts with barbed wire
I wish to partake of their nectar… Is it pus?
I might breach your zippers
and open your face
I might gag you with an urchin
I long to hear a quiet sight escape
your lovely lips as I bite your fettered, smooth thighs
Love subverted, lust perverted
Bitch-goddess Abigor’s pretty face
can mask her suffering
Make you worship both her and her needles
Subjugate it, perforate it,
flesh reordered isflesh of use
I now rededicate my life
to what Abigor has shown me
Track Name: Open Face Surgery
I’ve learned to control my thoughts
ever since I recognized the first eavesdropper:
those who listen in on my thoughts,
my logic, my sanity
I cannot let them know I don’t know
the verses, or converse in my head:
lash out at future foes,
banter with friends I’ve not yet met
The psychoaggressive minions of
your lord mock with laugher I can’t hear,
with hidden scowls they admonish me
Nothing’s sacred, Nothing’s safe:
your filthy god is omnipresent,
this undying nonentity that haunts
my every waking dream
They watch me, his mortal flock,
they know me now by sight alone:
my thoughts are too well concealed…
Yet I sense more scrutiny
Fleeting lucidity’s too loud for me,
let me be my silent self:
our existences irreconciled
Make them stop! I’m rotting fast…
The answer, painful though it may be,
is change
Alter my outer shell…
The listener’s may not, then, know it’s me
Open Face Surgery: short of pain
and long on masquerade
Ounce by ounce, lose a little weight
nip here, tuck there… So who needs eyelids?
Track Name: Serial Messiah
Something’s come over me… I can’t bear to see you live
Between lies, between sins that bespeak iniquity
I just want to hold your pretty hand
The rest of you can be dissolved in acid
I just want to hold your pretty hand
Purified of their sins, fornicators will be purged
Breath of god: wind of change
I ride, (and) you will meet your death… whore
I just want to hold your pretty hand
The rest of you can be dissolved in acid
You’ve payed for this death with all your sin. Die.
Track Name: Born Headless
You’re not emoting:
one of us will have to dig deeper;
These are my cheek nails:
Penetration, though unclean,
can make you bleed
in so many interesting ways;
I rend your flesh and caress your fears
as you weep
Human tragedy…
Let this be a lesson to you, it’s symbolic
Let this dirt define your grave
ornament of dandling flesh;
Why do you vomit?
You should have seen the last one I did:
I chewed it to a paste and spit it out
when I was done, yet the gummy taste
of anus still smothers my tongue
Girth control, to me, is considered an art;
Fat’s fully excised as I tear you apart;
my maleficence is as deep aas it can get:
I derive enjoyment from cruel torture
and messy death
I tear your legs from their sockets
to ease my pilfering of your pockets
Better for you if you’d been born headless
Blame your mother you weren’t born headless
Now that it’s over, you’ll be remembered,
but not missed, swathed in cerements
to keep in the precious cold
I turn and pass away in violence an gunfire;
the earth soaks up my brain…
I see myself as I’ve been
I see myself
Track Name: Swine of the Cross
Man-made doom bled death from the sky;
to all but a few, salvation was denied
Heavenly father, son and holy ghost,
save your servants (those of us who aren’t toast)
The not-yet-dead discovered that to be
a nuclear family means a whole new thing;
All-too-trusting shambling pseudomorphs
put their trust in a man of the cloth
Make them hate you, rotting cleric…
Remember, you are pu of my loins, you are pus
Give voice to your left side, let me in:
I’ve sawn the seeds of your redemption;
In subhumanicide, I am your guide:
seventy-seven times make them die
The sun is shining on a brand new day
Blackened corpses smolder where they slain;
Self-flagellation prompts him to confess:
Bless me father, for I made this mess
Immolation meant to purify sin wracked souls
Let diseased bodies die; survivors twice lost:
Betrayed in fire, by the Swine of the Cross
Track Name: Gravaged (A Cryptopsy)
Ungentle exhumation
Must be thorough, remove it all
Catalogue every part,
Then rape them and eat them
How dare them bury
what should be mine
My dead companions
on which I dine
Penetrate the dead hole
Please, O lord, just let it smell
and let mankind’s puniverse
be befouled just for me
My graveside manner
lacks no finesse
These ravaged bodies
betray no distress
As I tear apart the dead things
I annoint them with my seed
and gain new insights into death
with their consumption
Yet I wonder,
What if I were something dead?
Somewhere there’s a graveyard of ghouls
with a massive headstone
that waits just for me;
Maybe someday
Someone will come
Track Name: Memories of Blood
I awake remembering
nothing the next day,
my nostrils assailed
by the stench of decay
Dreams of dismemberment,
fantasies of torture
Mopping up affords me a
reminiscense of death;
Gooey bits and pieces
are all that is left
Stench of rot: uplifting smell
Someone’s dead or at least unwell;
What little is left smells impure;
Who did this? I’m not sure
No conscience interferes with
my memories of blood;
PSI energy remains
where a human once stood;
I equate its suffering with
the longevity of a ghost
Who lasts the longest
is who suffered the most
Track Name: Mutant Christ
Abominated, tiny god of mine
Overseeing my rest, my lust, my life
Torched in hatred
Loved in Horror sublime
Almost formless
Darkened, and yet you shine
You made me in your image
I deformed yours into mine
Now we’re even, O loving god
Equals in my melting eyes
Mutant christ, loving christ
Know me with thine naked eyes
Holy christ, one tenth the size
So unlike the other christs
God-made man (with)
man-made god to adore
My faith has been restored
Gaze upon me
Bless me, lord, or die
I’ll find another little lord to fry
You baked me in this image
so I burned yours into mine
Eye for eye and tooth for tooth
I love you now, O twisted christ
Mutant Christ
Track Name: Pathological Frolic
Who is this Geoffrey?
All I see is this cold cadaver
Why is this Geoffrey
lying in puddles of pus on a gurney?
Tell me of this Geoffrey,
this boy with a noose around his neck;
More about Geoffrey:
why is he wearing his mother’s bra?
How old was Geoffrey?
At a guess, I’d say
about twelve or thirteen;
He died accidentally
from auto-erotic asphyxiation;
He’d been masturbating…
our little stiff still has one on
and it’s been one week!
The resurrection men
took their sweet time
Cross-dressed fruit:
what a way to die!
Now he’s ours:
the apple of our eve;
Fetch the dead sphincter:
cold green meat
How did his ass taste?
Tender and sweet…
And then we fucked it…

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