Lord of the Grave Undeath

Scholarly pursuits of life after death
Existing after your last breath
Skin is rotting off, vision's nearly lost
Erudition achieved at all cost

I hear their screams
And smell their reeking
Rotting corpses

A sickness growing inside of me
Gnawing at the void
Where my self should be

Sacrificed humanity
Long riddled with disease
Atop a bone-made throne
I am lord of the grave

Supersede the need to feast for creed
Existing after your last deed
Skin is rotting off, vision's nearly lost
Erudition achieved at all cost

(I) hear their scrеams
And smell their reeking rotting corpses