The Grave Robber's Work

The grave robber's work is never done it's up all night and sleep all day the hourse are shit with
hell to pay pockets are brimming from our unique brand of sinning when the ladies claw my
back at night I know I'm onto something right I deliver the goods as long as they don't ask
deny I'm a working stiff like dear old dad and to you and yours nothing but curses you'll slave
your life away and for what you're just as dead as these old fucks they'll never get me I'll never
run out of stock with every second that ticks past the bodies are still stacking up so I've clipped
a few fingers off to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and trust to the
depths of hell or bust the blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded eath my fettered
fingernails its but a smallish part of what our dirry work entails come dance with me this
gravyard planet that you've called earth you hold in such a high regard its but as worthless as a
turd will you follow me into the dark I rob the dead for what their worth Jewels wealth
clothing sex when the mood prefers to carve a sullen path through life within the fallen's shoes
you'd turn your nose at me although I smell of sheik perfumes so I've clipped a few fingers off
to get that gold for which I lust from the deadman's bank and trust to the depths of hell or bust haunted by faces when I try to close my eyes so deeply it festers the guilt is murder the blackened bits of exhumed evidence embedded neath my fettered fingernails its but a smallish
part of what our dirty work entails may the gods have mercy.