| This is the night of living dead
|
| They crowd the streets
|
| In search of who they are
|
| And when it’s time to go to bed
|
| You can hear them breathe
|
| Like choking on a cigar
|
| And though I’d like to pledge allegiance
|
| I’m afraid it can’t be found
|
| So as they fire up their legions
|
| I’ve got another plan
|
| Some of you won’t understand
|
| This is a circus without clowns
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| I try to hold my ground
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right
|
| We’re in a circus without clowns
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| We try to hold our ground
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right somehow
|
| This is the night of living dead
|
| They watch the screen
|
| But they don’t know what it means
|
| And when it’s time to lift your head
|
| You hear the scream
|
| Sirens drag you out of your dream
|
| And though I’d like to pledge allegiance
|
| I’m afraid it can’t be found
|
| So as they fire up their legions
|
| I’ve got another plan
|
| Some of you won’t understand
|
| This is a circus without clowns
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| I try to hold my ground
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right
|
| We’re in a circus without clowns
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| We try to hold our ground
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right somehow
|
| This is the night of living dead
|
| They walk the ledge
|
| And then they tumble over the edge
|
| You know I’d like to pledge allegiance
|
| Now I’ve got another plan
|
| Some of you won’t understand
|
| This is a circus without clowns
|
| (Circus without clowns)
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| (Rotting in this town)
|
| I try to hold my ground
|
| (I try to hold my ground)
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| (That's what can’t be found)
|
| That ain’t right
|
| We’re in a circus without clowns
|
| (Circus without clowns)
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| (Rotting in this town)
|
| We try to hold our ground
|
| (We try to hold our ground)
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right somehow
|
| This is the circus without clowns
|
| (This is the night of living dead)
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| I try to hold my ground
|
| (They walk the lonely road in search of who they are)
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right somehow
|
| We’re in a circus without clowns
|
| (This is the night of living dead)
|
| Rotting in this town
|
| We try to hold our ground
|
| But that ain’t right
|
| That ain’t right |