"...when there's no room in hell,
the dead will walk the earth..."

pale figures walking down the bush
some naked or wrapped up in a shroud
some still dressed in a black suit
from the funeral parlour

crawling from the sepulchre
unrecognizable face
rigor mortis in the veins
they'll never die again

moving clumsily and slow
losing limbs throughout the walk
eyes bulging from the sockets
black holes of horror

stay alive off the living
they crave for human flesh
the souls of the dead
want to bring us with them

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