The dead will soon rise, so swallow goodbyes
they walk alone under thunderous skies.
Silvered with mist from graveyards they’re bound
their world’s not a stage it’s a hunting ground.
The blood in their veins is running red hot
throbbing away on their way to the spot
where fear flows like wine aged and refined
and there’s plenty of prey on which to dine.
The dead will soon rise, partake of goodbyes
and suck a few brains right out of warm eyes.
Never remiss, never just a sweet kiss
never for a moment think they will miss
a chance to party with leather and whips
or crashing the scene with blood on their lips
stop to have a sip from a Goth girls wrist.
Goth girls are sweet they never resist.
The dead will soon rise fiendish and wise
no need for them to wear a disguise!