(Bring out your dead)
(Bring out your dead)
(Bring out your dead)
(Bring out your dead)

Invaders came on phantom ships
Sailed the Black Sea west to Sicily, yeah, yeah
The sick, the dying and the dead
All that was left from this cursed disease, yeah, yeah

It was the fleas onboard that bit infected rats
Got blood inside of the fleas, yeah, yeah
Soon the ghost ships tied up to the docks
The path of the plague was complete, yeah, yeah

The sweet smell of rosies, a pocketful of posies
You can't mask the fragrance of death in their beds
There's Typhus in the air and ashes everywhere
Amongst the sick, the dying and the dead

Feral creatures feasting on the dead
Devour rancid human meat, yeah, yeah
Death and sickness permeate their bones
Rich or poor, they're dragged through the street, yeah, yeah

Open up your eyes, so you can see
All the sick, the dying and the dead

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

The sick, the dying and the dead

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Dave Mustaine