Qual - O’ Ornate Spade

Looking paler than death
I call your name
With my last breath
My crimson channels
Become cold and hollow
They turn gangrene
And mix with the shadows

O’ ornate spade bury me well
With ancient earth
Decorate my shell
I’ll cry neptunes
Under the ground
Waiting for you
Where there is no sound

O’ ornate spade
Bury me sweet
As deceased I must look neat