Catacomb Stench

Stone cold

Petrified

Flesh rot

Putrified

Coins on your lids

Skin turning pale

Death planted seed

The soul you exhale

Narrow passages that

Lead to your demise

As you're forced to fight

Your greatest enemy

Your own mind

Where corpses are left to rot

Ten thousand corpses awake

Unholy spirits and blood-thirsty ghouls

Allucinations inducted

By the germ of insanity

Inside your brain

Victimize

Disfigure

Assassinate

Suffocate

Starve

Dehidrate

The Stench of Catacomb

Stain of Death on your skin

One hundred feet underground

Pagan forces of old