Dance of the dead

Death is never the one to weather away, 
he's the one who starts the decay.
Remember this when your body is getting ready for it's eternal bed,
where worms wiggle away in your head.

As death dances and laughs above your wormy bed,
you hear hem creek, you hear hem creep

His violin plays in your head...
A song for the weary, a song for the dead.

We are but puppets pulled by our strings 
he is the master of all you dream...