Día De Los Muertos

We’re the freaks that only come out at night, the troublemaker kids
Put your filthy fucking fingers in the air and cut your wrists
I need all of the sex, drugs, and attention ‘cause I’m a piece of shit
Put your filthy fucking fingers in the air and cut your wrists
(Put your bloody fucking fingers in the air)

Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die

It’s the day of the dead, I forgot all the heckles
Keep the impulse inside with the knife and the smile on my face
When the clock strikes twelve and she casts that spell
I’ll be waiting, wide awake

Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die

Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die
Die, die, die, die, die, die