Tom: E
A E
The shadow of the Undertaker
A
creeps across your floor
F#m
Go lock up all your children
B7 E
And paint blood upon your door
A F#m
These hills are filled with whispers
B7 E
Of a man all dressed in black
F#m B7
And the toll of death's now, He climbs from hell
E
To drag some poor soul back
That ol' bible speaks of angels
Doing service unto the lord
The Undertaker knows no master
He drinks from any cup poured
Just as Banshees wail their warning
That someone that same day will die
The Undertaker, he states the same
I'll be goddamned if he tells a lie
The Undertaker raises no hand
But I'll fear him, just the same
His presence pre-tells both blood and death
Yet he shoulders
Not the blame
Like the shadow of the vulture
Circlin' blackly overhead
The Undertaker is drawn to death
Like a knife is drawn to red
