Whoa oh oh oh Whoa oh Whoa oh
Stumble in some subnomulance well
Pre-dawn corpses come to life
Armies of the dead survive
Armies of the hungry ones
Only-ones, lonely-ones
Ripped up like shredded-wheat
Only-ones, lonely-ones
Be a sort of human picnic
This ain't no love-in
This ain't no happening
This ain't no feeling in my arm
Whoa Whoa oh Whoa oh Whoa oh
You think you're a zombie, you think it's a scene
From some monster magazine
Well, open your eyes too late
This ain't no fantasy, boy
This ain't no love-in
This ain't no happening
This ain't no feeling in my arm |