Beneath topsoil, dormant lies a soul less mad mans corpse

Tried for crimes so sick in sight behind dead bolted doors

The wind whispers his malcontent in purgatory pain

Cries in moonlit night compelled to kill and rape again

Formaldehyde crusted, a puncture sight filled

Preserved for future faltering, a cemeteries thrill

Leaves rustle foreboding, warning of the return

A flesh wrapped godless being, past evils reoccurred

With strong malice, shovel blast, displace this sand shaped tomb

For century concealed in stone, release this son of doom

Thrust of farmers tool through night, a scene lit by the moon

On praying knees mourn future rot, the end is coming soon!