Stalk through hallowed headstones
For notes and coin, trade flesh and bone
Your eternal rest may, become nocturnal wrest

The newly deceased, still bereaved
Snatched from their peace, taken without leave
Truncated repose, for the decomposed

Adamantine clasp of the mortsafe
The muddy bonds of earth
Patent coffins do not vouchsafe
Calm repose beneath the turf

Stone walls do not a prison make
Nor six feet of sod a grave
Pray the lord your soul to take
You'll need defenders of the

Graves' occupants, so dearly prized
But to butcher, not to eulogize
To rest they were laid, now sold under the blade

Who turns the key to the mortsafe
When the sexton stuffs his purse?
Nightwatchmen cannot vouchsafe
Calm repose beneath the turf

Stone walls do not a prison make, nor six feet of sod a grave
So pray the lord your soul to take, you'll need defenders of the grave
Defenders of the grave, hallmarks of this ghoulish age
Defenders of the grave, defenders of the

Stone walls do not a prison make, nor shovels full of sod a grave
So pray the lord your soul to take, you'll need defenders of the grave
Defenders of the grave, hallmarks of this ghoulish age
Defenders of the grave, defenders of the grave