| Your inert body is lying in the morgue’s room,
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| a sheet covers your latent heart
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| rigid in the coffin you are carried to the graveyard
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| and while you’re going down by the hole, your agony starts
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| You wake up and everything’s dark
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| you can’t breathe
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| you don’t know where you are
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| you’re a victim of catalepsy
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| You scratch the wood, tearing the fingertips of your fingers
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| you scream by the pain and agony but nobody can hear you
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| the air comes to an end and you start to suffocate
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| you realize that youa re going to die
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| You are unconcious — and your heart stops
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| the time of your sweet death — has come
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| you start to create gases — and your stomach swells
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| your brain starts to rot — and liquify
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| A viscious mass is created for your kidney and ferment in stomach
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| blood and vomit and impregnates all the tomb of putrefaction
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| tens of microscopic larvaes are starting to be created in flesh
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| the whole crypt is infected by your decomposition
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| In your body are happening many metamorphosis of the grubs
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| putrefact agony
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| now hundreds of terrific insects finish with your putrid flesh
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| putrefact agony
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| The insects create obstructions of acid liquids
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| provoke eutaneous explosions
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| you regurgitate your last fluids, while you are
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| waiting for you total decomposition |