, , , , , , ,

Los ojos de los muertos I see them with my eyes
Los ojos de los muertos they stare as I walk by
For me there is no hiding from the eyes of the dead
There is no view more taunting than eyes within my head

Los manos de los muertos pluck at me day and night
Los manos de los muertos with their grip squeeze me tight
I know that soon they’ll shove me into a box of wood
Dead hands drag me to darkness to lay me down for good

Corozon de los muertos no longer feels a thing
Corozon de los muertos they don’t laugh, they can’t sing
Heart is but a metronome when one is dead inside
Horror of the tell-tale heart continues once we’ve died

Mi alma que ha muerto has not yet flown away
Mi alma que ha muerto sees monotonous gray
A life can be extinguished but somehow carry on
A heart and soul just flounder when hope has long since drowned

Existence of a zombie, we dead that move about
Existence of a zombie, whose lights have all gone out
The hourglass has emptied, the joy has all run dry
The empty shell remaining? Already it has died