What is dead should not come back,
Shouldn\'t reach out from its grave,
Shouldn\'t grab me by the hand,
And invite me to the dance,
Twisted, wicked, sick romance,
Dressed up in fake innocence,
With her pretty eyes and face,
All night long until the day,
Down the spine a shiver rushed,
My bones, my intestines crushed,
As the dawn turned her away.