You're really a faker,
not the undertaker.
You're a necrophiliac
in a fancy suit.
Collecting our dead
so you get a root.
I'm sure there are others,
many more
just as desperate as you.
The corpses need their rest,
Why don't you find yourself...
Why don't you find yourself a whore?
You won't need the dead any more.

The church wants you dead,
put a bullet through your head.
That angry Christian horde,
wants you crucified like their lord.
Send you down to join your final fuck,
Sicko, it looks like you’re out of luck.
Here they come, a breaking down the door,
You shall join your fucks for sure.

You’re really a faker,
not the undertaker.

© Danni Goldring, 2007