The Acacia Strain
Servant In The Place Of Truth
Grab life by the throat and tear out its eyes
Victims of the myth that everyone dies
Buried alive from the inside out
The maggots will crawl from your pretty mouth
You dig the hole, I’ll find the bodies
Silent lies
Quiet eyes
No surprise
Dead will rise
You dig the hole, I’ll find the bodies
I feel like I am losing my breath
The weight of the world is crushing me to death
Cursed are the living we envy the dead
There never will be a light up ahead
When the sun sees its final set
And we all choke our final breath
Underneath all the coughing and hacking;
You will hear me, I will die laughing