The Living Dead

They’re standing, like skittles They’re going to do dirty works Bring them deliverance They won’t pray or even light a candle Their taken hands full of needles There’s no more result with painkillers They’re forgiven They tried hard to struggle But the master strikes harder And he doesn’t let them pass over They’re undead They won’t pray or even light a candle Their taken hands full of needles There’s no more result with painkillers They’re forgiven We are the living dead We bend over the weight of fears Those to see dying our spirits We are the living dead And if it’s not the case for real We count our wounds They stare each other when sirens ring and strike They stare each other when starving wild dogs bark We are the living dead We bend over the weight of fears Those to see dying our spirits We are the living dead And if it’s not the case for real We count our wounds They’re undead, they are undead