The humble dank, dark hall of death
Was quiet, peaceful and stocked.
With corpses bandaged, naked and cold
And not even close to rottening.
Leather faced pretties and fly-blown chaps
Beneath the sheets snow white.
They soon will rise from sudden sleep
And roam this earth once more.
Behold these brown flesh dregs demised
And smell their morbid fragrance.
That topical scent that's sprayed and meant
To end all toxic gases.
When the frigid earth has brokened, the dirt still dry
So soon the dead will bloom.
From crumbling dirt and even worse
They'll struggle free from tombs.
Scartching cloths from decades past
Within their caskets torn
With dirty filthy finger nails in need of manicures.
As mourners moon comes drawing near
Before the grim owls call.
They'll toil the earth in search of him
Who mocked the dead and cold.
You'll cringe and scream and tears will stream
On the Herbringer of your end.
You'll never again lay a cold bologna sandwhich
On the chest of the dead again.