In an oaken high seat
An aura of ghastly presence
Eyes of evil, dead stare
Do you wanna get possessed

Evil has many forms
Frightened by fate
Harvest the living
You don't wanna get possessed

Buried beneath stones
Still there's fear in the air
It doesn't matter anyway
You are possessed

Reaping thy brother
Rebellion from the graves
This is just the beginning
Of a terror march unleashed