Children of the Dead

Children of the Dead
A.Salt, P.Tipping, K.O'Reilly

Would you kill yourself
If I told you
Would you slice your soul away
Would you sing and dance
In a zombie trance
And make yourself a slave
Try to run if you want to
But you can't escape my touch
Cause Hades won't wait 'til
A later date
And how I crave your taste
So much

Children of the dead
Rise up from your tomb
The damp earth of your grave
The warmth of your
Mothers womb
Hate me Hate me
For I no longer care
Fear me Fear me
I feel the truth lies there
Burn me Burn me
To silence the bad dreams
Kill me Kill me
Hear this banshee scream

The Spanish inquisition
Is alive and well today
The media's on a witch-hunt
Another victim comes to play
As children laugh as you
Take a bath
In a pool of your own blood
When the ratings die
They hang you high
And take a knife
And cut you up

And the children laugh
As you take a bath
In a pool of your own blood
And when the blood's all dry
It reveals the lies
The ones that fucked you up