Paroles: Wumpscut. Music For A Slaughtering Tribe. She's Dead.

You lie on your bed and shake
As it starts to overtake
Into my worthy upturned eyes
I'm throwing things to her throat

I crushed her head

She is dead
I crushed her head
She is dead
She made me mad

I crushed her head

She is dead
I crushed her head
She is dead
She made me mad

I crushed her head


As she stirs in sickness sleep
They all step on her head

She is dead
I crushed her head
She is dead
She made me mad
Dead
I crushed her head
She is dead
I crushed her head

Cause they all cry for mercy
And they all had to die