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Through the path of the cementery

Into the darkness I walk

With a rum bottle in my hands

With disease in my head

And rotting sickness in my soul

I can smell this intoxicating scent

That is ernelled from the graves

This is my drug

This is my ecstasy

This is the sweet scent of death

Rotting bodies in the pits

Between, grubs, dust, worms

Putrid flowers of doom

Funeral fog before my eyes

Created by the stench of the graves.