You bury your Dead too shallow

To get more flies, Pestilence and Honey



A kindred Spirit I control your destiny

What you smell is Fear As I cry to the Heavens



Truth isn't what it seems It's what the Fool believes

All the good one's are Dead And all Guilt is relative



For the sake of Veracity I thought I had lost it all

But these years proved otherwise So much more was taken



Dead eyes stare back at me His promises like Honey flow

Sweetness veils the rotting Flesh

And steaming Stench of thousands of Graves



What you sense is True Evil What you smell is True Fear

What you spread is a Miasma of Flies Pestilence and Honey



Every Headstone tells a Story Of Pestilence and Honey

(and of even more flies) So pale the Pleasure so pale the Pain

Because every Headstone tells a Story

All the good one's are Dead All the good one's are Dead