You bury your Dead too shallow  To get more flies, Pestilence and Honey    A kindred Spirit I control your destiny  What you smell is Fear As I cry to the Heavens    Truth isn't what it seems It's what the Fool believes  All the good one's are Dead And all Guilt is relative    For the sake of Veracity I thought I had lost it all  But these years proved otherwise So much more was taken    Dead eyes stare back at me His promises like Honey flow  Sweetness veils the rotting Flesh  And steaming Stench of thousands of Graves    What you sense is True Evil What you smell is True Fear  What you spread is a Miasma of Flies Pestilence and Honey    Every Headstone tells a Story Of Pestilence and Honey  (and of even more flies) So pale the Pleasure so pale the Pain  Because every Headstone tells a Story  All the good one's are Dead All the good one's are Dead