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Misfits - Hunting Humans

Upon this threshold of disaster
The birth of the eleventh plague
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 thousand corpses block our way
A man-made germ makes almost everyone commit suicide
Just to rise and eat their dead
Night of the living Dead...

We're hunting humans
We're hunting humans
We're hunting humans
It's killing time every day

I can't control this eerie feeling
An evil screaming in my head
I don't I'll last the night
There is no cure
For this genocide
Or resurrection of the dead
Night of the living Dead...

We're hunting humans...

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