| Bones encased in oblong boxes
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| Harvested for a feast, macabre
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| Organ meats hungrily devoured
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| By a loathsome trio of freakish slobs
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| Arms and legs strewn from stem to stern
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| An abattoir beneath the crypts
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| Heads are removed and bones defleshed
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| While fermenter gets us totally ripped
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| We suck on the blood of the dead
|
| Tomb after tomb
|
| Eye sockets let the pus drain from your head
|
| Tomb after tomb
|
| A meat hook finds its way into your neck
|
| Pulled from the coffin, a stinking wreck
|
| Just one more for the rotting flesh heap
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| As Ghouls, what we sow we are happy to reap
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| Boiled skulls float in horrid stews of bile
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| The popping of plague filled blisters
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| Raises a smile
|
| Mangled parts fuse together
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| In a sick making mess
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| The stench of hundreds of years rises from
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| The gurgling cess
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| Distorted faces dripping with gore
|
| In the eerie glow of torchlight, resemble
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| Humans no more
|
| Breathing the funk of the rotten
|
| Tomb after tomb
|
| Devouring the flesh of the forgotten
|
| Tomb after tomb
|
| We’ll see that your bones are turned to pulp
|
| And your bodily fluids distilled and gulped
|
| Your skull, now torch, will shed some light
|
| And allow us to shamble once more into the
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| Mist filled night
|
| Wrenching the stiffs from their resting place
|
| Tomb after tomb
|
| Introducing a hatchet to a worm-eaten face
|
| Tomb after tomb after tomb |