Ritual Of Desecration
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The grave robber's work is never done,
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It's up all night and sleep all day,
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The hours are shit with hell to pay.
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Pockets are brimming from our unique brand of sinning,
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When the ladies claw my back at night,
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I know I'm doing something right.
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I deliver the goods as long as they don't ask,
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Deny, deny, deny
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I'm a working stiff like dear old dad,
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And to you and yours nothing but curses,
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You'll slave your life away,
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And for what?
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You're just as dead as these old fucks.
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They'll never get me,
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I'll never run out of stock,
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With every second that ticks past,
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The bodies are still stacking up.
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So I've clipped a few fingers off to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and trust,
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To the depths of hell or bust.
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The blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded neath my fettered fingernails,
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It's but a smallish part of what our dirty work entails.
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Come dance with me,
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This graveyard planet that you've called Earth you hold in such a high regard,
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It's but as worthless as a turd.
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Will you follow me into the dark?
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Will you follow me into the dark?
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[Solo]
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I rob the dead for what they're worth,
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Jewels, wealth, clothing, sex.
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When the mood prefers to carve a sullen path through life,
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Within the fallen's shoes you'd turn your nose at me,
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Although I smell of sheik perfumes.
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So I've clipped a few fingers off to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and trust,
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To the depths of hell or bust.
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I'm Haunted by faces when I try to close my eyes,
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So deeply it festers,
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The guilt is murder.
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The blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded neath my fettered fingernails,
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It's but a smallish part of what our dirty work entails.
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May the gods have mercy
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May the gods have mercy.
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The Grave Robber's Work
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| The Black Dahlia Murder |
