I dig my hands in the soil Of an open old grave Feeling the bone against my fingers I raise an item of beauty Staring at empty sockets A grin of bone, jaw unattached I wipe the dirt away And kiss the infant skull So close in my dreams But this is reality And no dream can overcome This mental orgasm The rest of your lovely bones Obsess me to make love In a morbid office to Satan Serve the demonic host Stench of rotten blood From the black urns Nightmares and pestilence The face of the king