THE HUNGRY CORPSE My skin is melting, so I mask it, as I creep out of the grave. A hundred years inside a casket might explain why I now crave a decent meal. I think I'm liable to consume your every part, beginning maybe with an eyeball, ending with your beating heart. And since I love a good dessert, I think I'll grind your skeleton. You'll be dead, so it won't hurt, and bones make such great gelatin.