From the fiery pits of hell they rise, leftovers from chemical warfare
Legions of the most morbid creatures, they are dead but still alive
Drawn to the smell of pus, open wounds that will never heal
They need to feed, they need the flesh, infected corpses hunger for blood
Legions of the most morbid creatures, they are dead but still alive
Drawn to the smell of pus, open wounds that will never heal
They need to feed, they need the flesh, infected corpses hunger for blood
Fingers boiling from radiation sickness, reach out to desquamate the skin
When the flesh stort to decompose, they revel in their human victims
Piles of thousand slaughtered corpses, an endless wall of skin and bone
Their grotesque path of gluttony, a reek of descomposing flesh
Insane by feeding off the dead, they tear the massacred limbs apart
Use their teeth to crush the bone, they need the blood
No end to suffering
They need the blood
Emasculate, debauchery, carnal lust, sadistic pleasure
Lacerate, ravenous, devouring, rancid entrails
Disfigured limbless bodies, ruptured putrid skulls and bowels
Revelations of morbidity, a reek of decomposing flesh
Drained of all internal meat, left to rot in the sun
Conquered by the living dead, they need the blood
No end to suffering
They need the blood
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Primal Massacre
Opus Mortis VIII