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 
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