The bride, in the tomb.
The storm, at midnight.
The sweet smell of death.
The paintings in the hall.
We love it all.
Hiding in the sheets, afraid to go to sleep.
Giving you the creeps. We're in the Horror Show.
Walls stained red, it's un-dead, underneath your bed.
We're in the Horror Show.
It's killed another kid.
it snuck in, through the window.
Close your eyes, go to bed.
Maybe it won't find your bedroom.
It creeps, It crawls, it scratches it way from the grave.
Through the cemetery tombs and headstones.
It's time to be saved.
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