Gertrude, in the morning,
She cannot feel her body, for she is deteriorating.
Her blood boiling, her skin seizing,
The woman agonizingly resists!
But Skrungle Gore is here
He scratches, scratches, scratches
The door is nearly no more
Gertrude, in the evening,
She cannot feel her body, for she is deteriorating.
Her eyes are gone, her eyes are gone.
The woman agonizingly resists!
But Skrungle Gore is here
He smashes, bashes, crashes
The lady is nearly no more.
Gertrude, in the dead of night,
She cannot remember that she cannot feel her body,
And there is nothing left to deteriorate.
The woman agonizingly succumbs.
But Skrungle Gore was here.