deep in the catacombs, dripping with slime
potions and slaves I concoct
a bottle of bile, skull cap of chyme
a bat wing wrapped up in a sock
elixirs of gore boil over and flare
as human entrails roast
the stench of the dead permeates the air
all things considered, its really gross

pots full of scum carried sloppily above
splatters echo throughout the hallways
poured from their vessels, they sink
underground
leaving steam and the stench of decay

raising the dead, what backbreaking work
the night watchman didnt quite get it
cut off his head and broke the back of the jerk
he saw Ghoul and we made him regret it
tomb after tomb,
we creep through the graveyard
preparing the dead for their razing
softening the earth with micological mixtures
the results really are quite amazing

and the dead we will take
no mercy for those in their coffins
with spades and pick-axes
we'll plunder their crypts
devouring early and often
rising from the grave in the truest sense
freed from their poisons of pine
corpse resurrection to be used in confections
their blood to be turned into wine

baubles and trinkets we snarf out the tombs
to trade at the curio shop
glass eyes are pried from gelatinous heads
and chucked in a bucket
with the rest of the slop
back into the catacombs
our nightly feast has come to a close
clotting blood slowly drips from our mouths
as wafting stink creeps up my nose

nightly excursions, grotesque perversions
brewing their guts in a vat
as death haunts the living,
we stalk the unbreathing
we'd like to let it be known that,
WE CAME FOR THE DEAD !!!!