Inside the arms of Seth
lies a little rat,
dressed from head to toes
in his twisted woes,
He listens to my song
ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong,
He dances on my pain,
the lamest of the lame,
He's feeding on my karma
(and that's just the warm up)
Cause later on the night
he'll feed on my whole light,
He'll feed upon my soul
and later on it all,

and wondering how I know
I'll just tell you that is so
because my little rat,
he bears the name of death.