Canción de La Fría Tumba

When the dead rise up
from their cold, cold grave
poor thing's so worn out
it can't do any harm....
It doesn't want your food,
nor your woman, nor your cash
'cause it comes from a dark place
where no one eats bread,
or has bills, or coins;
nor warm red lips.
Without a nose and without eyes;
without a mouth or teeth;
wandering until dawn
the dead just craves
to return to a grave.