[Field Reporter : Are they slow-moving, chief? Sheriff McClelland : Yeah, they're dead. They're all messed up.]
- Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Many years ago when the world was darker, when man was afraid of the night
When fire and death were the punishment for witchcraft, when evil and good were as black and white
When men could be found, and women aplenty who revelled in arts of the foulest kind
People who sacrificed all that was sacred for power undying and strength of mind
A particular warlock of great renown went further than no man before
Determined to live when the townsfolk destroyed him for working with inhuman lore
Becoming a monster in human form, forsaking his life and his mind
Now under the earth, waiting for victims to prolong his war on humankind
Hand on your throat pulling you down
Back from the dead, back from the grave
Zombie wizard, into the ground
Invoking hell with your brain
On the darkest of nights when the moon is new
When stars are forgotten and clouds fill the sky
You may think the mist that presses your window is all that will cover your eyes
But evil is stirring deep underground
A hand is reaching from the burial mound
The earth shifts and the rocks give way
Darkness tightens its hold
The wind calms and the world holds its breath
Fear for all who behold
The evil stirring deep underground
A hand is reaching from the burial mound
The dead will walk, the dead will ride
All that was man is now dead inside
The dead will walk, the dead will ride
All that was man is now dead inside
Hand on your throat pulling you down
Back from the dead, back from the grave
Zombie wizard, into the ground
Invoking hell with your brain