Post Mortem Waiting For The Funeral
I Feel The Surge Of Power As I Crush The Mighty Blow
Intestines Spew From Open Wounds As I Let My Anger Go
Liquid Red Engulfes The Street As I Stare With Vengeful
Eyes
Sinister Flames Entrap My Brain, I Keep Wishing He Would
Die
He Jerks With Spasms Erratically As Death Will Take Its
Toll
Wicked Thoughts Upon My Brain For Now I've Got His Soul
Waiting For The Funeral, Torturing The Weakened Minds
Watching The Death Parade, In Blood His Name Was Signed
Crying Widow Mourns The Altar, The Coffin Dorr Is Closed
The Mutilated Corpse Grows Stagnant, The Maggots Begin To
Unfold
I Spit Upon The Grievance Flowers And Mock The Preacher's
Words
The Last Rites Of The Dead Man Never Shall Be Heard
In My Hand His Soul I Keep And Through The Gates He'll
Stay
Down Into The Pit Of Fire To He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named
