De mortus nill nisi bonum
De mortus nill nisi bonum
Sanded wood in corse black hair
He liked to think that no one cared
He often tried to nail me in
He laughed and joked made mindless sin
Black is the colour of your hair
Lead us not into despair
I I I knew the coffin maker
I I I knew the coffin maker
Something bad it couldn't touch
The smell of years it meant too much
A shadow in the distance
My mind was lost to his existance
Black is the colour of your hair
Lead us not into despair
I I I loved the coffin maker
I I I loved the coffin maker
De mortus nill nisi bonum
They walk the ice cold freezer room
We no longer lie on slabs of lead
Don't don't speak ill of the dead
Black is the colour of your hair
Lead us not into despair
I I I killed the coffin maker
I I I killed the coffin maker