Night Of The Living Dead - 88 Fingers Louie

Stumble in somnambulance so

Pre-dawn corpses come to life

Armies of the dead survive

Armies of the hungry ones

Only ones, lonely ones

Ripped up like shredded-wheat

Only ones, lonely ones

Be a sort of human picnic

This ain’t no lovin'

This ain’t no happening

This ain’t no feelin' in my arm

No

No

Oh

Oh

You think you’re a zombie, you think it’s a scene

From some monster magazine, well

Open your eyes now

Too late, no fantasy, cuz

This ain’t no lovin'

This ain’t no happiness'

This ain’t no feeling in my arm

Oh

No

No oh

No

No