Their eyes are dull, the spark long gone,
but still their stench remains.
Among the graves and cold headstones,
Beneath the waning moon,
Under the starry sky that lights the ground
with ever dimming lights,
I have seen unimaginable things,
I have seen unbelievable sights.
Their bodies stiff with rigor mortis,
and foul with rot and decay,
Their armpits full of dirt and worms,
Their hair like moldy hay,
Their decomposing corpses,
Rise to join skeletal hands,
And as the wolf cries in the night,
You see the dead can dance.