[A boat traveling down the Styx. Moon, stars, etc.]

Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly
I gotta praise one band ‘til I die
can’t help lovin’ that Rotting Christ

tell me they’re poseurs, tell me they suck
remind me their singer probably can’t pronounce “fuck”
can’t help lovin’ that Rotting Christ

the day their lyrics make sense
is still several decades hence
and when they attempt
to bust out the pseudo-dance beats
it’s real sweet

squawk about Mayhem ‘til the cows come home
force-feed me on Graveland ‘til my ears start to foam
can’t help lovin’ that Rotting Christ