The Undertaker

　

　

memories are made of things another door bell rings

falling apart at the seams a butterfly's dream

You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools,
But that's the way I like it, baby, I don't want to live forever

viscous fangs dripping blood off side we run away to hide

society is blind you see so I devote myself to poetry to set me free

get cadence to the Undertaker as he burys another hero

to late when their corpse is lowered down below

cinnammon with syrup in their dear eyes of peppermint fueled

he stakes his stand to orts unseen in a land filled up with mean

blind leaders of the blind will fall into a great ditch evil switch

the Undertaker is not a faker the less that you give your a taker

shattered dreams filtered through its evil schemes falling apart at the means

all of life is a proven test in the big contest I must clearly confess

some are the tool of the government & industry to

　

The Undertaker takes it all in holds his breath to count to ten a fiend

sees bodies in their glorified mass circus appeal lying on a table

naked creatures with fluid running through their veins its the insane

he lives in the underground with the under world sound

darkness with conclaves of disorder