F.o.d. (Fuck Of Death) - Slaughter

Deep in the coffin, death prevails

slowly awaiting rotting entrails

naked cadaver, ready to mount

open the mouth, go down for the count

White and clammy, cold as ice

f*** of death, will suffice

bury my face in her stench of death

kissing those lips without any breath

Drain the blood from the neck

into the macabre, nightly trek

howl of the witch, flight of the bat

sreaming from hell like a siamese cat