Pleasant Screams Greetings from the home of d**h A place devoid of hope Where sanity and reason twitch Upon the hangman's rope Greetings from a nightmare From a place that should not be Where spirits congregate In ectoplasmic revery Welcome to our town You just may find it suits your tastes Until you feel the Reaper's Clammy breath upon your face Welcome to our home And tell yourself it's just a dream It's time for you to die now So enjoy, and pleasant screams MANIAXE Forbidden Crypts We smelled the greasepaint in the air, They stumbled into town last night, completely unaware, Clad in shirts of mesh and with mascara on their eyes We saw a keyboard player and we knew they had to die. They played a show at Ivan's Inn, From underneath the stage we heard the caterwauling din, They sang of forests, elves, and trolls, The urge to k** them on the spot we barely could control After the show they all got drunk, Apparently to celebrate a set that really stunk, To the graveyard they predictably paid call, These lords of chaos whined about their tour bus being small They spoke of Norway and "the scene" The sound of laughing Ghouls reverberated through the trees "We should take some pictures!" the one in chain mail said, "That's it." Cremator growled, "It's time these idiots were dead." They scattered like rats when they saw Ghoul attack, The drummer was the first to go, a hook in his back Machetes were sinking into painted flesh Carnage and gore soaking leather and mesh The keyboardist begged but Fermentor just laughed We hacked off his hands and then chopped him in half The vocalist was strangled with his very guts His female back-up expired from her cuts Splattering brain pans as a matter of course Violently murdering with no f**ing remorse Their ba**ist, to a b**bytrap, paid a toll His head having gained five or six extra holes The blood from his mouth made a hot, steamy treat We savoured the moment, then sawed off his feet Both of the guitarists made a run for the gate Digestor cut them off and sealed their fate One of them cried while the other was k**ed, His tears did no good as his skull was still drilled Slicing and dicing, our fanatic obsession Of slaughtering poseurs, we've made a profession In our forbidden... Forbidden crypts!!!