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Misfits - Hunting Humans

Upon this threshold of
disaster The birth of the
eleventh plagure The fires
burn at night I begin to doubt
the smell of burning flesh Will
ever fade away The touch of
death is all around us A
thousands corpses block our
wat A man-made germs makes
almost everyone commit
Suicide Just to rise and eat
their dead Night of the living
Dead We're hunting humans
whaoo-ooo We're hunting
humans whaoo-ooo We're
hunting humans whaoo-ooo
It's killing time every day I
can't control this eerie feeling
An evil scrteaming in my head
I don't think I'll last the night
There is no crue For this
genocide Or resurrection of
the dead Night of the living
dead We're hunting humans
whaooo-ooo-oo
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