Death, you look sickly today What has got you down, my old friend? You hang your head so low As you sit at the foot of my bed "Where once towered forest vast, now towers steel and glass." And these shuffling people with open sores Death, you can no longer provide, and must be severed A moment to observe... Is this whom you pray to, Of whom forgiveness beg? Weakling! So sayeth the opposer, upholder of the fall Known by many names Proud descendents of Satan, upholders of Lucifer's law And the sniffling people with open sores Shuffling through the slush Failure to observe and sever Let us dance before him And aloud our voices ring Rising to the heavens Resurrecting the corpse of God To murder him once again