Funeral Pyre کے بول

Horror, horror-struck faces of the dead Carved, carved like stone in my head Twisted, twisted-mouths silently scream Haunt me, haunt me each night in my dreams So sickeningly sweet, the smell of death So thick on your tongue choking your breath Bear witness to slaughter, bathed deep in gore The Grim Reaper's the sole victor in war See how they burn, bodies piled high on funeral pyres to never return Stack the bodies, pile them higher, See how they burn Flames fed by political liars without concern Stoking the flames, they feed the fires So sickeningly sweet, the smell of death So thick on your tongue it chokes your breath Bear witness to slaughter, bathed deep in gore The Grim Reaper's the sole victor in war Angel of death, the beholder of all Curse, the flames, as the bodies fall Fall, into Hell, it's a Devil-spawned game To another victim, the Grim Reaper lays claim