At last [bad word] up, the sun 
The bodysnatcher's day be gone 
With blackened teeth [bad word] skin 
And swigging long upon his gin 
He's weak with his breaking back 
The corpse he carries in his sack. 
The bulging burlap caked with clay 
Is foul yet musky from where it lay 
Beside his shovel, oh [bad word] 
Inside her cold and lonely grave 
The mournful wind sings songs of praise:

How lovely she in her blue dress 
Behold the tempting virgin flesh 
Her sunken eyes filled with blind grace 
Her [bad word] lips with secret tastes...

For raven hair in tangles coiled 
Upon white satin, he hath toiled. 
He'd held her dainty feet and sighed...

The downy smooth upon her thighs

And wrapped within his fraying scarf 
One little heart floats in a jar... 
Swaying quiet now lifts his head 
This robber stops to toast the dead 
And pray will he in town lust waits 
For paid he'll be by pounds just weighed... 
This night he'll roam the streets of mud 
He's slushing down these roads of blood 
Tonight he'll own the meat and mud 
This night he'll roam the streets of mud 
HE'S SLUSHING DOWN THESE ROADS OF BLOOD 
Tonight he'll own the meat and mud 
HE'LL DRINK THESE STREETS 
HE'LL EAT THIS BLOOD

How lovely she in her blue dress 
Behold the tempting virgin flesh 
Ravished only by one called