Down Among the Deadmen Rise
Down among the deadmen rise
a fiend of pitch and crimson eyes
it burns in rage and pained hunger
it walks although it breathes no longer
it is a Thing from Not, a thing that shouldn't be
but yet it lives in unliving, undead agony
Upon dead root and spoiled, rotted earth
a thing that died before its birth
no soul, no life, just endless hate
it walks this dirt when the day is late
it comes for ruin and darkest wrath
passing through the gravestoned path
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