| Spirits of the Dead |
| The ires burn red, Like hell's inferno In The Slaughterhouse The chainsaws roar, In deadly thunder In The Slaughterhouse Destined to kill He slays at will The murderer, Of a thousand faces Maddened to rage Feet in the grave Living off flesh, Of the victims he has slain In The Slaughterhouse No guest is safe, >From bloody torture In The Slaughterhouse There is no place, You can call safe Inside this house, Is a realm of Chaos Enter and die House of black light Butcher of life, Could have you under the knife In The Slaughterhouse The corpses rot, Decapitated In The Slaughterhouse |