If you don't walk with the dead then you will die with the living
Empty shells of mental inability dwell on these plains
Bombarded with the indignant winds of desolation
Roaming the woods of despair and isolation
Seeking out my tomb, for departure is inevitable
In pale deviance of my being, I lacerate my flesh
If you don't walk with the dead then you will die with the living
Wandering on until the end, I have nothing left