The dead are rising from the cold wet earth
The sticking clods to them gives birth
Hands reach up to the black night sky
The hoard arises and with out a cry

Row on row of corpulent flesh
Coming together this undead mesh
Form a circle of un-living mess
Crowd together and inward press

On melting features on a slipping face
A hint of compassion I can trace
Even the hoards decay cannot erase
The look of sadness and of disgrace

Decaying flesh and moldy bone
Pull me down into the unknown
Under cool wet soil and solid stone
My heart beat slows as I lie prone

Their slimy fingers grip on my sleeve
And their cold embrace I will receive
Now for my love and life I softly grieve
This putrid host will not let me leave

Here I slumber far from the sky
In the cold wet earth I calmly lie
I wait here for the anguished cry
Of a lovers soul that wants to die.