This is the
House of the
Living
Dead
This is the
House of the
Living
Dead
This is the
Dead
In a cold night study on a
Thursday night
An old guy, half -pissed and depressed
Puts 10p in the jukebox and plays
New
York,
New
York by
Frank
Sinatra
This is the house of the living dead
This is the house of the living dead
This is the hunt of the living dead
This is the hunt of the living dead
Tear rolls down from a welder's eye
He wipes it off before he's caught
And with the beard in his other hand
He wipes his weakness clean away
The bunny comes to collect the grass
See, she gets called out
by the usual asshole
His car is alright, well, how a waste
He won't let go till he gets a kiss
She'd love to hit him when
she knows it hurts
But she pecks him on the side,
oh, his grotesque face
He's a drunk, let's go,
make some ice crack
Drinks his beer, cause that's all
he knows
This is the house of the living dead
This is the house of the living dead
These people will
drink their gyros away
By
Sunday morning they're
building off small change
I find it sad, and I find it distasteful
Living life in stinking ruts
I feel surrounded,
so it's time to go home now
I feel a bit well, I've had a skinful
I should be glad I've got
somewhere to go
Back to the box, empty hands