| deceased not dead my fire burns
|
| procession of my rotting worms
|
| heads in hand and silent moans
|
| rotting cloth remains on bones
|
| furious yet I ride with ease
|
| grand invisions of crushing knees
|
| rolling boulders the sound of thunder
|
| soldiers rot they come from under
|
| hear the scream it’s time to die
|
| we ride the sea and glide the sky
|
| feel the cold rise your feet
|
| our silhouette is black and bleak
|
| severed limbs you felt no slash
|
| mouths are gaping dripping ash
|
| brain is dead you look so old
|
| hands are numb your face is cold
|
| eyes of the dead eyes of the dead
|
| eyes of the dead
|
| crusted black putrid face
|
| all are dead the rats in place
|
| fingers crawl in searching birth
|
| all around is dripping earth
|
| hear the scream it’s time to die
|
| we ride the sea and glide the sky
|
| feel the cold rise your feet
|
| our silhouette is black and bleak
|
| severed limbs you felt no slash
|
| mouths are gaping dripping ash
|
| brain is dead you look so old
|
| hands are numb your face is cold |