'You should not have come here. your not welcome here. this place is for the dead.'
They call me the crypt keeper in charge of the netherworlds Death valley is made up of skeletons and spoken words Vultures fly by like ghetto birds and pick flesh from bones While they melt in the sun like ice cream cones the dead zone Absorb'em until it rains brimstone and hot lava melt away puppet strings Got a thousand of 'em waiting to jump if I give the word And drag you down in the crypt without a care or concern ...
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