The Peculiar Pretzelmen - Dead Hand

Under the ground
getting all over town
it's 17 paces
and its off to the races
he's got beady rat eyes
and he's prone to long chases
when he seems disappeared
he's most certainly near
the presence conceals it
you no sooner feel it
curious, flirtingly
than a cold pallid certainty
the chill's overpowering
at the icy deflowering

of the

dead hand
dead hand
clawing and gnawing
your temperatures falling
dead hand
dead hand

heave ho down we go
i said heave ho and down we go
into the tunnels
and the black earth below
cold dread tendrils
invading each ventricle
it's on every face
we're all in the wrong place
its the wrongest of times
deeply steeped in the crime
that's slowly unfolding
in the serpentine hold

of the

dead hand
dead hand
clawing and gnawing
your temperature's falling
dead hand its the
dead hand