" kiss the corpse, the blessed sigh, enter the garden of the night
Shed a tear, suspended in fear - Every soul is starving here "

The silence of the graves is not silent at all:
Millions of the dead are crying in their graves,
But no-one can hear them no-one ever hears
No-one can hear them Except for the dead themselves

We can't die, no we can't die,
It doesn't even matter if we try
We fear/hate the living, we shun the light,
Our beloved tombs keep us sheltered inside
Sleep sleep is the brother of death,
So lie down beside this skeleton in the coldness of the grave,
Let the embrace of his dead arms keep you all save and sound
Buried in slumber silently Forever beneath the ground

Stalk "The night", if that's your wish,
With your foolish garlic-chain and crucifix,
Yet, if you find our graves, we won't be there,
There are thousands of places left for our despair

And every night it's the same again:
"The feast of Blood is about to begin !"
We are wretched pathetic the flickering souls,
But staging our pain is all part of the whole
And when all lights are fading, leaving but a fleeting glow,
Then, after far too many years, it's time for us to go

"Kiss the corpse - the blessed sigh - walk in the garden of the night
Shed a tear, suspended in fear - Cause every soul is starving here
Hold the carcass, sweetest lie, bury the body you chose to deny,
Shed a tear, suspended in fear - Every soul is starving here"