|
THE ACCüSED LYRICS
"Grinning Like An Undertaker" (1990)
1. Pounding Nails (Into the Lid of Your Coffin)
2. Bullet-Ridden Bodies
3. The Corpse Walks
4. Grinning (Like An Undertaker)
5. Down and Out (Featuring the Mad Poet)
6. Cut & Dried
7. Dropping Like Flies
8. M Is for Martha
9. Room 144
10. When I Was a Child
11. The Night
12. Voices
13. Boris the Spider (The Who? cover)
14. Tapping the Vein
1. Pounding Nails (Into the Lid of Your Coffin)
POUNDING NAILS (Into the Lid of your Coffin) Music: Sinder, Sibbald, Niemeyer
Lyrics: Cook
A heavy rain is pouring down
Upon the mourners gathered at your grave
Heads bowed in deadly silence
As the priest recites your eulogy
Pounding nails into the lid of your coffin...
Pound
Casket slowly lowered into the ground
Another body consigned to the grave
Interned in your final resting place
Launched into eternity
Pounding nails into the lid of your coffin...
Pound
A bright light leads you to heaven
Your soul cursed to eternal damnation
Your spirit set free now wanders
Your body buried rots in the ground
2. Bullet-Ridden Bodies
In 1989 in New York city alone
140 youths under the age of 18
Were gunned down
Gunned down
Bullet ridden bodies
The streets are the new battle fields
Someone's gonna die, the blood never stops flowing
The streets are the new battle fields
Littered with bullet ridden bodies
And families mourning their dead.
14 years ol selling five dollar rocks of crack cocaine
You ripped off the wrong people
Now you've got the sights of the 9mm
Aimed at the back, back of your head.
The first shot fired pierces his skull
As eight more shots are pumped into his body
As he crumples into the new fallen snow.
14 years ol selling five dollar rocks of crack cocaine
You crossed the wrong people
Now you've got the sights of the 9mm
Aimed at the back, back of your head.
The blood, his blood, drips from the snow
Into the slush-filled streets.
A crowd starts to gather
A young girl begins to scream
BOGOTA, COLUMBIA
50 bodies float down a raging river
Hands cut off at the wrist
Headless and bloated from weeks
In the tropical water.
The streets are the new battle fields
Someone's gonna die, the blood never stops flowing
The streets are the new battle fields
An families mourning their dead.
3. The Corpse Walks
THE CORPSE WALKS
Music: Sibbald, Niemeyer
Lyrics: Cook
Alive among the lifeless
How many of us still survive ?
Stranded in this hell
Cursed by the walking dead
There’s not much time left now
The sun has already begun to set
Time to board up (the) windows and doors
It’ll be dark in half an hour
Rising from forgotten graves
The dead returning to life
The corpse walks
Never to be killed again
Bon(e)y fingers covered in moldy flesh
It’s got you by the neck
A look of hunger in dead eyes
Broken teeth sink into your throat
Too late, you saw it too late
Your flesh a feast for fiends
The body scattered on the ground
Blood soaked into gravelly earth
The streets are now empty
I watch the dead (as they) begin to feed
4. Grinning (Like An Undertaker)
You're the filthy creature
Crouched in the shadows
Of a street light
Hunched over your catch
Shit, she's barely alive
Blood dried up and caked in her hair
Her face just a bloody mess
Just when you think you're gonna
Finish the job
Martha comes along
Just to set things straight.
Gaping mouth
Full of razor-sharp teeth
All seeing eyes
She's staring you down.
She shatters your skull
In her vice-like grip
She tears your head off
Your victim gets sick
Lucky for you she wasn't dead
You just lost your head
Your brains oozing out
From between her fingers
Your blood wets her lips.
Grinning like an undertaker
Ready to dress a corpse
Grinning like an undertaker
Ready to dress a corpse
5. Down and Out (Featuring the Mad Poet)
On doorsteps and in alleyways
I see these fools passed out
At any time of the day
Crashed out in a bed of piss
Empty bottle cradled in their arms.
So tell me
Who's job is it to tend these few people?
Back to self-sufficiency and respect
I turn my head it puts chills in my heart
If I give you some change to clear my mind
Would I have played my part?
There's a man who has a dream
But never seems to make it
'Cause everytime he gets some, someone tries to take it.
A second chance at life, no one will give him
In an alley wat is where he's livin'
You see him there you walk by laughing and smirking
Thinking to yourself it's only his fault, he ain't working.
That might be true but it's only half the story so
Kick back while we tell you his story.
He came back from the war a veteran
The only thing he learned to do was kill and shoot a gun.
That comes in handy when you're fighting a war
But when you came back to society you need much more.
So all he had was terror in his mind
No job skills so a job he couldn't find.
The only thing he had was memories
Of his friends being killed and crying and dying babies.
So he grabbled bottle for an escape
From all the mental torment that the war had made.
Now you're calling him a bum 'cause he can't get none
While you're sitting at home not willing to get some.
Sharing and caring is what he needs now
Some support for his marals, some help for his ego.
So he can go to the top where every man can
And all he really needs is a helping hand.
So tell me
Who's job is it to tend these few people?
Back to self-sufficiency and respect
I turn my head it puts chills in my heart
If I give you some change to clear my mind
Would I have played my part?
Cold dark and lonely
Broken and abused
Homeless hungry and hated
orgotten
Only remembered on the streets
And they're down, down and out.
6. Cut & Dried
7. Dropping Like Flies
DROPPING LIKE FLIES
Music: Sibbald
Lyrics: Cook
You got this habit you just can’t shake
There’s not much more your body can take
So you jab that needle in your vein
Another load of dirt for your brain
Scars and scars up and down your arms
Your body covered in a sheet of sweat
You made the choice
To drag out your life
In a dull drugged oblivion
Eyes wide open lips blue with death
Your lifeless body slumped over in a chair
No show at your funeral
No flowers on your grave
Dropping like flies
8. M Is for Martha
9. Room 144
ROOM 144
Music: Niemeyer, Sibbald (?)
Instrumental
10. When I Was a Child
When I was a child
I spent hours in the back of a Dark Greyhound bus.
When I was a child
I heard ma father curse the witch
The neighborhood punchboard.
I squeezed my eyes shut really tight
Whenever I drove by the cemetery at night
But during the day I drank whiskey and smoked cigarettes
In the same cemetery that scared the shit out of me at night.
When I was a child
Afraid to go in the basement
Scared of what was hiding in the dark.
When I was a child I had a father
Who never knew me or saw me grow up.
11. The Night
Standing on a corner
In the middle of the night
His schizophrenic face
Shrouded in the smoke
Rising from the sewers
Beneath the streets
Cracked lips surrouded teeth
Yellow and decayed.
His schizophrenic face
Shrouded in the thin haze
Of hot breath wheezing from
Dying lungs
Greasy hair covers
Wild blood-shot eyes
Dirty toes poke through
The ends of weathered
Combat boots.
Somewhere in this city
An old man's all alone
Standing on a corner
In the middle of the night.
Reaching in the pocket
Of his battered overcoat
Skeletal hand crucified by arthritis
Clench a half-filled bottle of
Fortified wine
A stream of drool
Runs from the corner of his mouth.
Somewhere in this city
An old man's all alone
Standing on a corner
In the middle of the night.
12. Voices
VOICES
Music: Niemeyer, Sibbald
Lyrics: Cook, Sibbald
Voices, do you, do you
Ever hear voices ?
Do you ever hear voices
From the dark recesses of your mind ?
Voices, do you, do you
Ever hear voices ?
Do you ever hear voices
Gnawing pain, driving you slowly mad ?
They’re always different
They never sound the same
The dark side is beckoning me back again
The phone won’t stop ringing
Causing me endless agony
These voices in my head are always taunting me
I’m in my room
They’ve got me locked away
Nothing outside could fill all these days
I’m Jimi Hendrix
I’m Elvis the King
I know the federal government is watching me
Voices, do you
Do you ever hear voices ?
Do you ever hear voices
From the dark recesses of your mind ?
Voices, do you, do you
Ever hear voices ?
Do you ever hear voices
Gnawing pain, driving you slowly mad ?
My life has been taken over
By a part of my mind
Sanity has never been so far away
Reality and nightmare
Melt into one
This constant ringing/screaming in my head won’t leave me alone
Curled up on the floor
Four walls and a bed
Me, myself and the voices in my head
Curled up on the floor
Four walls and a bed
Me, myself and the voices in my head
Curled up on the floor
Four walls and a bed
Me, myself and the voices in my head
Curled up on the floor
Four walls and a bed
Me, myself and the voices in my head
13. Boris the Spider (The Who? cover)
BORIS THE SPIDER
(John Entwistle)
Originally recorded by The Who at Pye Studios, London in October 1966
Look, he’s crawling up my wall
Black and hairy, very small
Now he’s up above my head
Hanging by a little thread
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Now he’s dropped on to the floor
Heading for the bedroom door
Maybe he’s as scared as me
Where’s he gone now, I can’t see
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
There he is wrapped in a ball
Doesn’t seem to move at all
Perhaps he’s dead, I’ll just make sure
Pick this book up off the floor
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
He’s come to a sticky end
Don’t think he will ever mend
Never more will he crawl ‘round
He’s embedded in the ground
Boris the spider
Boris the spider
14. Tapping the Vein
TAPPING THE VEIN
Music: Niemeyer, Sibbald
Lyrics: Cook
You say you’re living an empty life
Your days filled with nothing but misery and strife
Nobody to call your own as you’re slowly wasting away
In this rat-infested hole that you call home
Tapping, tapping, tapping the vein
Rusty razor blade slices deep
Blood spurting
From the gashes in your wrists
Rats are crawling out
From the cracks in the walls
Rats are crawling down
Crawling down your arms
Lapping up your blood
While it’s still warm
|
|
